The Last Enemy
Note: Expansion of the s03 episode ‘We Are The Garrison’. Some dialogue was taken from this episode,
written by Simon Allen, and some parts of the story were inspired by the script's final version.
Chapter 1
“Have a rest, Sylvie. You’ve been on your feet for hours,” Constance said attentively.
The two women were tending to a young cadet sitting on the ash and dust-covered ground of the destroyed garrison yard and leaning against a wall. She had noticed her friend’s tired face and occasional moments of taking deep breaths to steady herself when she thought no one was watching her.
“So have you,” Sylvie replied, putting a fresh bandage on the cadet’s arm.
“Yes, but I am not…” Constance’s voice faded as she cast an eloquent look at her friend.
Their eyes met, then Sylvie stopped working, her eyes immediately searching for Athos; the Captain was helping d’Artagnan and Porthos put out a few remaining small fires further away from them. Aramis was looking after the seriously injured Clairmont, lying on a provisionally made stretcher, while Brujon was anxiously watching them. The young woman sighed, then glanced around, seeing the few survivors being looked after by someone, mostly her friends she brought from the camp immediately after the explosion in the garrison. Some of them were tending to the musketeers injured in the explosion in the tavern at Treville’s wake.
“All right, but only for a few minutes,” she said then and stood up, stepping away. Constance smiled and turned her attention to the young man again.
Sylvie walked away from the yard and chose a resting spot on a small barrel standing at the wall in the underpass leading out of the musketeers’ base. She sat down and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Only then did she notice that her hands were shaking.
It had been a few hours since the moment she rushed to the garrison, terrified of the thought that Athos and her friends were in danger or worse, and her body was running on empty by now. She hadn’t even had the time to fully process what she had witnessed. Casting a look into the yard again, the full realisation of the devastation in front of her eyes finally hit her – her eyes welled up. Trying to hide her weakness, she buried her face in her hands and let her silent tears run.
All those innocent lives… For what? For hatred and revenge? Is this ever going to end?
The years of her vocal fight for equal rights for all people had often put her in uncomfortable, even dangerous situations, she even had to flee from war, but Sylvie had never witnessed anything so utterly devastating. This is how she always imagined a war-destroyed land - a giant rubble of fire, ash, darkness and lives lost in vain. She thought of all the familiar faces, smiling at her every time she had visited the garrison to meet Athos, faces young and old, making her always feel welcome. She would never see most of those smiles again.
The tears started to choke her, and quiet sobs made their way out into the smoky darkness of the world, hurting her more than an open wound. And then she felt a hand gently landing on her shoulder. Suddenly ashamed of her breakdown, she hastily tried to wipe her tears and looked up – Athos watched her silently, his eyes filled with pain.
“I just… needed a minute,” she said, trying to sound casual, forcing a smile at him and already standing up. “I should help Aramis. I fear for Clairmont. He is…” Her voice faded as she looked past him; water stood in her eyes again. She only managed to take a step forward when Athos’s voice and hand stopped her.
“Sylvie…”
She took a deep breath, desperately avoiding his gaze, knowing she would lose even the last bit of composure she still maintained. His penetrating eyes had always been her undoing, and she knew this would be no different. However, the tenderness in his voice and the gentlest hold of his hand on her forearm broke her anyway. She turned to him and with one look, allowed him to comfort her. Her arms went around his waist at the same time as his arms wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
I should be the one comforting him… He had just lost almost all his comrades… He had lost his home…
The tears were flowing again, and although she hated the lack of self-control, she let them fall anyway. Her emotions had been triggered much easier lately.
Athos, finally getting a minute to rest as well, closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Only then did the memory from a few hours earlier step forward, as he remembered his horror when seeing the garrison on fire right after the explosion. His mind was on all the cadets, everyone who had created the extended family he grew to love and who lost their lives in the flames and smoke. He also remembered how he stood in the yard and felt his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach when d’Artagnan started desperately calling for Constance, and Athos suddenly realised there was another woman in the garrison…
The memory of the dread that gripped him and robbed him of words as his eyes searched the yard for any sign of life suddenly made him sick all over again. The relief when he finally saw her running to help them loosened the clamp gripping his heart, and her ability to act so quickly and mobilise any help she could impressed him yet again, filling him with pride. He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Sylvie. What were the chances she would decide she wanted a walk before returning to the garrison instead of joining Constance and Brujon, helping them bring more wine to the tavern? Luck was a fickle thing, but for the hundredth time that night, Athos thanked Providence that it kept her out of harm’s way. She might not have been as lucky as their friends…
“What has become of men?“ Sylvie pondered quietly, breaking the brief silence between them. For the first time in her life, she felt true despair creeping into her bones. “What can we do in a world where hatred and greed for power are stronger than anything?”
Athos pulled back a little to see the dim outline of her face, and his hand gently cupped her damp cheek, his thumb wiping away a little smudge of ash.
”We fight them with love,” he stated, determined, and a small smile reached his wise eyes.
Sylvie smiled through tears, warmth melting the sudden cold in her chest. Only a few hours ago, she watched Athos sit at the table, surrounded by his comrades honouring Treville’s life. She helplessly watched a broken, lost man who was unable to find words to comfort his friends in their darkest hour. Now, she watched and listened to the same man speak as he made hope return to her veins. At that moment, nothing could have made her love and admire him more.
Athos kissed her forehead and, after one last look at her, walked back to the yard, joining d’Artagnan and Porthos at work among the rubble again. Sylvie’s eyes followed him for a moment longer before she took a deep breath, wiped away the remaining tears from her face, and determinedly set out to offer her help to Aramis.
A dark day had ended - hopefully giving way to a brighter one.
※※※
Athos hastily unfolded the paper he had just found.
“If we don’t get to the camp by noon, Grimaud’s going to execute the refugees one by one…”
No… After everything that had happened… Please, anything but this…
The Captain was staring at the handwritten note in his hand, his heart hammering in his chest with anxiety. He had always prided himself on remaining calm under neigh-on any dangerous circumstances, but now he felt he was losing, the ground shifting beneath his feet. He found himself standing on one side of an imaginary abyss, seeing the woman he loved with all his being standing on the other side, dangerously leaning forward. He stared at the familiar handwriting and begged in his mind that he was hallucinating. How was it possible? She was standing by his side only a little while ago… How could he have let this happen? How could he not have foreseen it?
Absently, he let the paper slip through his fingers as Aramis took the note from him, wondering about his friend’s frozen, distressed expression.
Aramis lifted his eyes from the note, fully understanding the horror in Athos’s stare, pinned to the lifeless body of the old woman, the dead messenger lying in front of him. Wordlessly, he passed the note to Porthos, unable to finish reading the note out loud.
“Starting with Sylvie…” Porthos read quietly, frowning.
Athos squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in an attempt to stay composed.
Focus… You must stay focused…
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.
“Well, we know where he is now,” Aramis said, “although we’ve fallen for that trap before.”
”This time we have the advantage,” Porthos remarked. An intrigued frown appeared on Athos’s face as he stood up to face his friend, with a question in his eyes.
”This note’s addressed to the three of us,” Porthos continued. “Grimaud thinks D’Artagnan’s dead.”
His friends nodded, suddenly sensing a real chance of a rescue mission, probably their only chance.
”We go in; d’Artagnan follows us from a distance, keeping hidden from Grimaud’s view. He can quietly get rid of as many of Grimaud’s men as possible, while their eyes will be on us. That gives us a real chance not only to save Sylvie and the others, but to be done with Grimaud once and for all,” Porthos concluded.
Athos and Aramis exchanged looks, hope lifting up their spirits.
“Get d’Artagnan. We’ll meet at Christophe’s tavern,” the Captain said to him, resolved.
Aramis left, leaving his two friends alone. Athos’s face was still paler than usual, tension set around his eyes, but he seemed focused and determined to see their plan through, no matter how extremely difficult and unpredictable it was.
“It will work,” Porthos said reassuringly, knowing what was going through his friend’s mind. He loathed promising anything when they were so clearly outnumbered, but the distress in his comrade’s eyes convinced him to do so. “We will get her back.”
Athos exhaled loudly, nodding slightly. He didn’t seem to find any words; a pat on Porthos’s shoulder would have had to do. He hoped against all hope that the musketeer was right. The dark clouds of worry were gathering over his head yet again, making him feel all the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he was not going to let them cloud his judgment or determination.
Another battle was ahead, and the soldier in Athos was ready to fight - more than ever before.
※※※
“Does it change things, risking your life when your life is no longer your own?”
“It changes everything… It’s the greatest cause you’ll ever have. It makes you want to fight harder…”
D’Artagnan’s words in the tavern resonated in Athos’s mind even as he walked steadfast and resolved with his three friends toward the refugee camp. Within the last few months, his life had changed dramatically. The once lonesome musketeer was lonesome no more, and his life was no longer his own to be responsible for. Before, he didn’t think about the danger of possibly finding death through an enemy’s sword or bullet; he accepted the possibility as part of his job. He was still unfazed by the danger posed to himself, but there was a difference now – he truly wanted to live, because he finally had something precious to live for. D’Artagnan was right; the thought of the one who had filled his broken heart with love again made Athos want to fight even harder now.
“This is where we separate,” Porthos stated, making them stop at the large wooden construction of staircases and platforms, built at a tall wall and leading to its other side.
D’Artagnan remembered the place immediately. It was here that Marcheaux arrested him when he protected the refugees from the angry Parisians shortly after his return from war.
“Of course!” he pondered aloud. “The other access to the camp…”
“I doubt Grimaud or Marcheaux would cover this. It’s rarely used, certainly not for official purposes.”
“Only the refugees sometimes use it,” Athos remarked, remembering how Sylvie led him through the web of staircases a while ago after one of their nightly meetings.
Porthos looked at d’Artagnan. “You take this way. We will take the usual entrance. You know what you’re doing.”
The Gascon nodded. “Good luck,” he said then before exchanging looks with all of them, and started climbing the wooden stairs.
Athos’s eyes followed him until he was almost level with the wall top.
“D’Artagnan,” he called after him.
His friend turned around, with a question in his eyes.
“Be careful,” the Captain said, his voice coloured with sudden emotion, his bright eyes clouded with worry.
D’Artagnan smiled at this unguarded moment, touched by his friend and mentor’s care as always. Then he turned, and a moment later, he quietly disappeared behind the wall.
※※※
He mustn’t come… He will never make it alive from here if he does… But if he doesn’t come, no one in the camp will live to see another day…
Sylvie’s brain was on fire, her mind in conflict with itself as she was sitting against the cold wall next to a group of other refugees. Her hands were tied tightly at her back; a few more minutes, and the rope would tear her skin. But Sylvie barely registered the dull ache in her wrists. She had endured much worse pain not long ago, and after the horror she had seen the previous night, her mind’s attention was on more important things. Her eyes wandered around, seeing the anxious faces of people huddling on the cold ground next to her. Most of them were people she had known since she arrived at the camp years ago. The thought of their lives being extinguished like a candle flame without a reason was making her stomach turn.
How can you choose one life and abandon another?
She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. The nausea she had felt a few minutes ago seemed to have disappeared.
Why didn’t I tell him? I should have told him…
Suddenly, she had a nasty foreboding about Athos finding out about her secret from someone else, the last person she would want to reveal it to him… It made her stomach turn again.
“So? Will he come?” A sharp voice interrupted her brooding sardonically.
“That is for you to find out,” Sylvie replied, holding her head high and looking into the distance. Even when sitting, she refused to bow down to her captor.
Grimaud briefly observed her expressionless face, then grinned.
“I think he will,” he remarked. “Unfortunately, he let his feelings obscure his reason. Love always breaks people.”
“You know nothing of love,” Sylvie said with gritted teeth. Whatever tiny bit of compassion she might have felt for him before, it was non-existent now. “You never knew one.”
Grimaud’s grin vanished as his cold, dark stare pierced her distant eyes. For the second time that day, he felt momentarily caught off guard. Yet again, he felt a strange sting in the place where his heart was.
“Why would you want to bring a child into this world?”
“Don’t you know? Oh, you don’t… do you?”
What took him so aback when she asked him that before? Why did he suddenly feel like something was wrong with him, the reason for which lay way back in his dark past? This woman saw through him way too easily, and he didn’t like it. No, there was nothing wrong with him; it was the world that was wrong, and he was there to fix it to finally have a life that he deserved… He would make sure her demise would be slow and painful, right in front of the grief-stricken eyes of her dear Captain. And he would reveal her secret to him to deal the final blow…
“Maybe you’re right,” Grimaud said then, “but I at least have a choice. Athos doesn’t. And because of his weakness, you’ll both be dead soon.” He turned and started slowly pacing.
Sylvie felt a shiver go down her spine. She wasn’t afraid of her own death, but imagining Athos and their unborn child being so cruelly taken away from the earth made her heart start hammering with anxiety. Her face remained expressionless, though. She would not grant Grimaud the pleasure of seeing her fear.
“You have been dead for a long time,” she remarked knowingly.
Grimaud stopped pacing, and his icy stare found her face. Their eyes finally met, and her resilience and defiance would have impressed him had her words not annoyed him.
Yes, slow and painful…
※※※
Chapter 2
Athos, Porthos and Aramis continued walking through the streets filled with people and occasionally lined with market stalls. Athos thought how surreal it was that everybody behaved as if it was an ordinary day when nothing ever happened, oblivious to the great evil lurking just behind the tall wall separating the city from the place where the refugees found their anything-but-glamorous asylum.
At last, the three musketeers reached their destination.
“Well then,” Aramis remarked, attempting a small smile as they stopped at the camp entrance. “Time to face our Nemesis.”
“We fought Grimaud by our code of honour, our rules.” Porthos frowned. “And we know who we need to be. No etiquette. No mercy.”
“No rules,” Aramis added.
“No honour,” Athos concluded, as all three exchanged earnest looks.
As expected, the Captain was the one to make the first steady but slow steps and enter the refugee camp, followed by his comrades. Their eyes roamed the space around them, looking for any sign of movement. In vain – the camp that usually hummed with activity like a beehive seemed deserted.
“Grimaud!” Athos called out, challenging the enemy. His interior remained calm and cool, but on the inside, his impatience was growing.
He didn’t have to wait long, for only a moment later, they saw Grimaud appearing from behind a house, with the former Red Guard Captain and his men dragging a few refugees into their sight. Marcheaux roughly pulled Sylvie by her arm. If he was expecting panic in Athos’s face, he was disappointed – his facial expression remained unchanged.
“Were you really foolish enough to come here alone, Captain?” Marcheaux mocked him.
“You left us with nothing,” Athos stated.
“Then we’re almost even,” Grimaud replied, his eyes peering from under his dark eyebrows.
He had waited for this moment ever since he brutally beat the Captain in the very same camp not long ago. He didn’t manage to finish his mission then - the woman in his captivity now thwarted his plan - but Athos’s resilience and skills made him a worthy opponent. However, his death was inevitable; no one would stand in Lucien Grimaud’s way.
Grimaud glanced at the other two musketeers; Porthos and Aramis appeared more than eager for a long-awaited showdown, their eyes blazing fires at their opponent.
“Weapons,” Grimaud demanded.
“Hostages,” Athos replied calmly, his face relaxed - too relaxed to Grimaud’s taste. He scoffed and glanced at Marcheaux, giving him a silent order.
Marcheaux pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Sylvie’s head.
For the first time, Athos showed a hint of emotion. He inhaled sharply and couldn’t suppress a tiny wince of his eyebrows. Sylvie held her head high as their eyes locked; her look at him was austere but unafraid and defiant. Her unspoken message was clear – she would not break under the enemy’s hand. In one moment, Athos felt both fear for her life and pride in her unwavering courage under even the worst circumstances. He glanced at Grimaud and, knowing he had no choice, started detaching his sword from his belt and throwing away his other weapons. Aramis and Porthos followed his example without blinking. Marcheaux pulled Sylvie back.
“Which one of you started the fire?” Porthos teased the men, intentionally biding the necessary time for d’Artagnan. “I’m interested. Come on!”
He looked at one of the former Red Guard members, pointing a pistol at him.
“Why don’t you fight me, huh? Man to man!” Porthos challenged with a smirk. “You, was it?”
The man stepped forward, but Grimaud stopped him, bored of Porthos’s pointless teasing, then he ordered.
“Execute Porthos and Aramis. Bring the Captain to me.”
A couple of Marcheaux’s men grabbed Porthos and Aramis.
“I never took you for a coward, Grimaud!” Porthos teased again.
“You said your mother was weak!” Aramis added his bit before being taken away along with his friend.
Athos didn’t speak; his face was as cool as ice, his eyes pinned to Grimaud. He had expected this course of events and was hoping d’Artagnan managed to eliminate enough of Marcheaux’s men to help Aramis and Porthos. Without resisting, he let himself be led away from the yard to the underpass between the two houses where Grimaud and his men were standing.
Here goes nothing then…
They stopped, and one of the men was putting handcuffs on his wrists. Strangely, Athos thought of a memory from not long ago, a memory that brought him into Sylvie’s room…
They had just spent another night together, a night full of conversation, sensual tenderness and passion, leaving him not only physically fulfilled, but especially even more in love with her than he thought he could ever be. Just her nearness was something he was almost addicted to, even without the love-making aspect. Once, a long time ago, he felt the power of being intoxicated by love. This felt different, though – comforting, mature, deeply moving, healing... He felt helpless and unwilling to deny the fact that Sylvie filled the cold and empty hole in his heart that had been like a gaping wound for too long a time. He knew that the scar would always be there, but at last, he was ready to give in and finally live again.
In the morning, they made love again, just before he was reluctantly about to return to the garrison and start a new working day. This time, it was Sylvie who initiated his prolonged stay, and for the first time since their relationship developed, Athos suddenly felt the need to surrender fully to her and decided to bare himself like never and to no one else before – he asked her to tie his hands up on the beam above their heads.
He wondered whether his request would surprise her, but her reaction amazed him, although he should have expected it by then: wordlessly, Sylvie searched his eyes for a long beat, and then, a tender, understanding smile appeared on her face. She took a scarf and did as he asked her to…
As he lay next to her later that morning, watching her still asleep with her head resting on his chest, he couldn’t resist gently stroking her cheek and pressing a kiss on her forehead. Watching her so close, as if she were another, inseparable part of his body, he realised one thing – he wanted her in his life forever. To hell with complications; she belonged with him and he belonged with her with all of his years-long-tested heart…
Standing next to Grimaud now, with his hands tied up once more under much more dramatic circumstances, he felt mixed emotions: fear for Sylvie’s life, regret that he had pushed her away before twice and wasted precious time to be with her, and anger that he didn’t protect her from the storm of his arch-enemy’s vengeful mission. And still, she stood in front of him, tied up like him, courageous and strong as ever. However, her eyes spoke of something else, too.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said quietly to Athos, glancing at him. He lifted his eyes, noticing her voice was a bit shaky. He studied her face for a beat before turning his attention to Grimaud.
“Let her go. You have me where you want me,” he said.
Grimaud stood right in front of him, enjoying every second of his triumph, his vengeful eyes piercing the Captain’s. “Not yet.”
He turned back to Sylvie, coming to stand beside her and lifting his dagger to her throat.
“I want you to watch… as she dies,” he stated with pleasure.
Athos couldn’t help a small smile. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.
“She’s no more afraid of death than I am,” he replied.
“She may not be afraid of her death.” Grimaud didn’t give up, deciding it was time to bring out the trump card.
Athos noticed a little quiver of Sylvie’s chin, then watched Grimaud’s dagger slowly moving down and stopping near Sylvie’s tummy. His brain processed the information immediately - horror struck his heart, bringing it almost to a halt. His eyes widened and slowly went up to meet Sylvie’s pained gaze. The despair he found in it confirmed it – Sylvie was expecting a child… his child…
He registered her slight nod and the apologetic expression in her eyes, welled up with unshed tears. Athos didn’t think about why she would apologise. All he could think of was that his world was turned upside down, on the verge of collapsing. Before, despite having all faith in d’Artagnan’s skills, he feared for Sylvie’s life. Now, he was absolutely terrified, feeling the drum of his heartbeat in his mouth when he thought about another life also under threat from his Nemesis, the life of his own son or daughter…
His head was spinning, the freezing winter air suddenly choking him as he couldn’t stop water from gathering in his eyes…
Dear God… Please, don’t let them die, please…
Grimaud watched Athos’s broken expression with satisfaction. For the first time in a while, he had a real upper hand on the Captain and couldn’t get enough of the feeling of victory. He was certain that this was finally the day when he would wipe out all the musketeers for good; nothing would stand in his way to power anymore.
Athos looked back on the spot where his unborn child would rest, and just as the emotions threatened to overwhelm him, the sound of two gunshots pierced the air. He looked up again and waited in agony; Aramis and Porthos…? Or d’Artagnan?
And then it came: the third shot, hitting one of Marcheaux’s men standing next to Sylvie. All heads turned in that direction and saw d’Artagnan appearing and running towards them.
Sylvie immediately reacted and kicked Grimaud with her elbows, freeing herself from his grip. Her hands still tied up, she ran a few steps away, keeping herself out of harm’s way, while spotting Aramis and Porthos joining d’Artagnan in the furious battle with Grimaud and his men.
Athos used Marcheaux’s inattention while aiming his pistol at d’Artagnan, and disarmed him, then launched himself at one of the Red Guard men. His tied-up hands didn’t seem to prevent him from fighting. With the sudden strength of a wild beast and blood boiling in his veins, he fought his way through several men trying to stop and eliminate him. Each hit of his fists left a painful handcuff mark on his wrists, but he neither noticed nor cared, as he finally knocked down the man who had previously handcuffed him. He grabbed the keys from him, freed his hands and, only half-noticing his comrades’ heavy fight with their enemies, he ran over to Sylvie.
As he hurriedly kneeled by her side, his eyes frantically searched for any signs of injuries, fighting hard the urge to take her in his arms. Their eyes locked for a second, communicating wordlessly like times before. They both knew the fight was not over yet, and Athos moved behind her to cut her ties. That was the moment when he noticed Marcheaux running away from the scene.
“Get Marcheaux!” he roared at d’Artagnan, who was about to run after the fleeing Grimaud after he had previously stabbed him with his dagger. He turned on his heel and followed his Captain’s order without question.
Athos cut the last tie binding Sylvie’s hands and hesitated for a glimmer of a moment.
“We’re fine; we’re safe. Go. Go!” Sylvie ordered him.
He was immediately on his feet and started running after Grimaud, who had just fired a shot at Porthos, injuring his arm, and vanished behind one of the houses. On his way, Athos grabbed a sword lying abandoned on the ground and ran… As fast as his legs allowed him, he was trailing the enemy in the narrow streets of the camp. Once or twice, he spotted a shadow of a black cloak in the distance in front of him, but then, he ran merely by instinct. By the time he ran out of the camp and found himself back on a busy street filled with market stalls and people who still acted as if nothing was happening, there was no sign of Grimaud. Paris mercifully decided to allow him to escape justice yet again. Athos’s eyes eagerly searched the space around him, but he saw nothing. The only visible trace was the black cloak lying on the muddy ground like a trademark of the ghost he had been chasing for so long.
The enemy had escaped once more.
※※※
Sylvie fastened the improvised bandage on Porthos’s arm.
“You were lucky he missed,” she said.
“Yeah, but hopefully he won’t be so lucky to have escaped Athos,” the musketeer complained, frowning.
“If anyone can get Grimaud, it’s Athos, sooner or later,” Aramis remarked, watching his friends, noticing Sylvie’s restlessness. The image of Athos's beaten-up face after his recent brutal encounter with Grimaud was etched in her memory like an ugly scar.
The mention of the Captain of the Musketeers strengthened Sylvie’s concern. She witnessed how cruel and brutal Grimaud was with her own eyes twice, and despite knowing that Athos was one of the best swordsmen in France, she couldn’t mute the alarmed voice in her head. Her eyes kept returning to the entrance to the refugee camp, at which she, Porthos and Aramis were waiting for Athos and D’Artagnan. Just as she finished fixing Porthos’s arm, they heard a voice calling from the camp.
“Sylvie!”
Aramis smiled. “At last,” he said, looking into the camp entrance.
Sylvie turned her head and recognised a figure approaching them with fast steps. Her usual self-control suffered a sudden lapse, and without thinking, she started running towards the man.
Athos caught her in his arms, finally putting aside the cool mask and allowing himself a moment of vulnerability as he kissed her and then held tight, breathing heavily.
“Are you all right?” they said simultaneously when they pulled apart, oblivious to d’Artagnan passing them by with a smirk.
Sylvie chuckled through a few tears escaping her eyes; she nodded and whispered. “We are.”
We are… Athos repeated the wondrous words in his mind, the relief on his face changing into amazement, albeit his head started spinning as he was still processing the shock and subsequent fear he had felt when hearing the news just a while ago.
A father… I’m going to be a father…
His thumbs kept stroking her cheeks while his glistening eyes spoke about his amazement at the miracle he was a part of. But he was yet to say the words she needed to hear.
“I’m sorry,” Sylvie started quietly. “I should have told you…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Athos interrupted her gently, then kissed her again.
Letting her draw him completely in her embrace, he fought the subconscious urge to immediately carry her somewhere far away, where she and their unborn child would be safe from all danger - away from the wrath of Grimaud, who has yet again escaped.
They suddenly became aware of their surroundings and pulled apart, turning their heads toward their friends, standing nearby smiling, out of their earshot. Athos grazed Sylvie’s temple with his lips, and hand in hand, they walked to join them.
“I’m sorry,” Athos started, with a frustrated shrug. “I lost him. He vanished like smoke.”
”Don’t apologise.” Aramis shook his head. “Grimaud is more slippery than an eel. However, he’s badly injured and won’t get far, if he survives at all.”
”I should have finished him off,” d’Artagnan added, disheartened. “But Marcheaux gave me no chance when he attacked me.”
”For which you repaid him more than appropriately. At least he is not our problem anymore.” Athos remarked.
Sylvie took a step to give d’Artagnan a heartfelt hug. “Thank you,” she said.
The young musketeer chuckled. “It was teamwork.”
”I know, I already hugged the others,” Sylvie replied with a smirk, which changed into a relieved smile. “And the people in the camp are safe again, at least for a while.”
”When Grimaud took you aside, I was afraid he might want to execute you himself,” d’Artagnan said, looking at Athos. “I feared I would be late to save you.”
”But you weren’t, and I’m grateful for that, more than you know,” the Captain replied, and his friend noticed some deep emotion reflecting in his eyes and voice.
”Anyway, I’m glad you’re both all right,” the Gascon added cheerfully.
Athos smiled. “You mean all three of us.” His eyes landed on Sylvie’s face.
If Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan were ever truly surprised by something, this simple statement made them forget about it. Seeing their amazed expressions, Athos almost wanted to laugh.
”You never said a word!” d’Artagnan cried, with a beaming smile on his face, and gave him a bear hug before congratulating Sylvie in the same way.
Aramis and Porthos followed their friend with big enthusiasm, hugging both parents-to-be.
“I didn’t know until now,” Athos remarked, shaking his head - it started spinning again.
“I wasn’t sure how to tell him,” Sylvie admitted, with mild uncertainty on her face, as she expectantly observed the man she loved – he still hadn’t said how he truly felt about his upcoming fatherhood.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Athos’s face before he looked away from her.
“I’m terrified,” he stated at last, making his comrades laugh heartily.
Sylvie’s smile faded a little, and a cold shiver went down her spine. What if he doesn’t want the child? She started panicking, but Athos brought her out of her misery when he turned back to her.
“And elated too.”
This time, his smile lingered, as did his intense look into her dark eyes, watching her own smile grow with pride. Something warm spread in his chest, and Athos surprisingly realised he had never been so… yes, elated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her glowing face.
“We’re all elated, for both of you,” Aramis spoke with genuine joy.
“All three of you,” Porthos corrected him.
“No child could wish for better parents,” d’Artagnan stated with conviction.
“Or uncles,” Porthos added with a grin, raising his eyebrows.
“And if it’s a boy, we’ll teach him how to fight.”
“And if it’s a girl?” Sylvie jumped in, teasing.
“We’ll teach her how to fight off the boys,” Athos replied, smiling and making everyone laugh.
Sylvie watched his face for a moment – it lit up like a candle, emerging from the darkness. His voice was gentle when he spoke, but his blue eyes shone brightly from elation. Her eyes glistened momentarily, vividly imagining the picture he had just painted. Quickly, she shook off her emotions and forced herself back to reality.
“I’ve got to get the supplies to Constance,” she said pragmatically, back in action.
Athos’s smile faded, worry reappearing on his face as he reached for her hand.
“You need to rest…”
Sylvie squeezed his hand and leaned closer.
“I am with child, Athos, not without use.” She sounded uncompromising, although he saw the playful sparks in her eyes before she started to move away from him, smiling.
“I’ll come with you,” d’Artagnan offered, not only out of the kindness of his heart. One look at his Captain told him everything he needed to know.
The urge to keep Sylvie close emerged in Athos’s mind; the image of Grimaud still on the loose, even if seriously injured, haunted him again. His eyes followed her, his hand unwilling to release its hold. Eventually, when she glanced back at him with a smile, he let go of her hand, unable to let her out of his sight, though. However, he was grateful that d’Artagnan would accompany her – she’d be safe with him.
Just moments ago, he came so close to losing her, to losing them… He swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that he might have easily been dead as well. All he could think of was a life without Sylvie and that of their child – an unbearably painful life…
Porthos punched him playfully in his chest, laughing and ready to leave; Aramis was still grinning. Athos suddenly grabbed Porthos by his vest, making both his friends freeze.
“Thank you!” he whispered with a strained voice, his breathing suddenly heavier as he barely managed not to burst into tears. With great effort, he kept his emotional turmoil strictly behind a brick wall when it mattered the most, but now the fragile dam broke, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
“Hey…” Porthos tried to calm him down and gently patted his chest.
Athos glanced back in Sylvie’s direction before speaking to his comrade again.
“Your plan saved their lives…” His voice broke as he looked into the eyes of the man who had been through so much with him over the years. His eyes filled with tears; gratitude wasn’t an appropriate word to describe what he felt at that moment – he felt blessed.
Porthos nodded, and his hand cradled the back of Athos’s skull as they half-embraced before setting out to leave as well.
Aramis’s gaze followed the Captain for a while before he joined his friends. In all the years, Athos rarely allowed himself to come out of his emotional shell, and if so, it was usually the result of misery, depression or anger, followed by the consumption of indecent amounts of alcohol. This was different, though. The emotion he had displayed now was raw but caused by his deeply moved state of a different kind. It was love that brought tears to his eyes, but this time, after all the trials and tribulations, at last, they were happy tears.
“What are you going to call him?” Porthos asked curiously as all three were walking down the street.
“Or her?” Aramis added with a smile.
Athos chuckled. “Definitely not Porthos,” he said, with a smirk, before adding, “or Aramis.”
“I see,” Aramis teased. “D’Artagnan it is then.”
The friends laughed, and just for a moment, they decided to forget about the threat still looming over them and Paris like a shadow of a giant black raven.
※※※
Sylvie pulled back the blanket on the bed she and Athos were to share in their provisional room, one of the few in what used to be Christophe’s tavern. Below them, several wounded cadets and musketeers were resting under the watchful care of Constance, Brujon, Aramis and a few helpers from the refugee camp.
After bringing the supplies to the temporary musketeers’ base, she spent a few hours helping Constance, occupying her mind with being useful to those who needed it the most. However, when Athos returned from the Louvre after he had reported about the recent events to the Queen, he and Constance both gently persuaded her to have a rest after the unwanted excitement of the day. Sylvie didn’t protest since she did feel fatigued, not having slept for more than a day, and the prospect of some much-needed sleep was enticing.
She took a long nap and woke up just before dinner time. The atmosphere in the tavern was subdued, still reflecting the tragic events from the night before and the subsequent passing of the young Clairmont, who lost the fight with his extensive burns. Despite an occasional attempt to lighten the mood with a few jokes here and there, the faces of the musketeers bore signs of fatigue and worry. Grimaud hadn’t been found anywhere, and that meant only one thing – the danger was not over yet.
“Sleeping beauty is up,” Constance’s cheerful voice greeted her friend, seeing her standing at the kitchen door.
“I’m sorry,” Sylvie apologised, walking over to join her friends, sitting at the table they were sharing at their dinner. “I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”
Athos immediately stood up, reaching for her hand.
“You didn’t need to get up. I would have brought you food upstairs.” His eyes still haven’t lost that mildly worried expression when looking at her.
Sylvie shook her head. “I told you, I’m only with a child.” She chuckled. “I can’t stay in bed until the baby decides to say hello to the world,” she scolded him playfully.
He sighed, then snorted. “Of course, I’m sorry… I just…” Words didn’t want to come as his eyes bore into hers, wishing her to understand.
“I know,” she replied softly with a smile, returning his gentle gaze for a beat.
A polite cough from the table interrupted the tender moment between them.
“Are you going to stand there sweet-talking or are you going to eat?” Porthos teased them from under his eyebrows, chewing on the bone of an especially delicious piece of roast chicken.
The couple chuckled and sat down. Aramis passed on a plate to Sylvie. Only then did her eyes fully register the content on the table, and she opened her mouth – the amount of bowls and plates full of food was staggering.
“The Queen,” Aramis remarked, noticing the perplexed expression on her face. “She was very distraught hearing about what happened at the garrison.”
Sylvie looked at him in awe. The monarch hadn’t stopped to amaze her.
“I told you she cares about people,” Constance said, smiling, “especially for those in need. She just never really had much power to prove it.”
“Until now,” Aramis added, pride warming his heart.
“We are the last ones here to dine tonight. There is plenty of food for a whole army for a few days,” Athos said to Sylvie, knowing exactly what she must have been thinking. She finally relaxed and smiled, accepting a large piece of bread he passed her. Her eyebrows shot up, seeing him piling up her plate with double portions of roast meat, cheese and some fruit, she put her hand over his to stop him.
“Athos!” He looked at her, confused. She chuckled. “I’m not a horse.”
Everybody at the table laughed; Athos too, before he leaned with his elbows against the table and buried his face in his hands, feeling emotional once again.
“You seriously need to stop panicking, brother,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “What will you be doing once the baby starts kicking?”
“Panicking even more,” d’Artagnan replied, grinning.
Sylvie’s hand travelled into the Captain’s hair, gently stroking it. Athos uncovered his face and wiped away a tear before looking at her, smiling and reaching for her hand.
“I know I’m being ridiculous,” he admitted. “Being elated and terrified at the same time is not exactly something I know how to deal with.”
“Stop it,” Porthos interjected, frowning. “You’re the Captain of the King’s Musketeers! You led a battalion into war. If you can handle regiments, you can handle a baby.”
The friends laughed again and continued sampling the delicacies courtesy of the Royal Court. The atmosphere at the table had changed; the shadow of sadness hovering above it temporarily vanished due to the friendly banter. Suddenly, a baby’s whimper made Sylvie lift her head from her plate, and she finally noticed a young, blonde woman with a gentle, delicate face she didn’t recognise sitting next to Porthos and holding a baby in her arms.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. “Somebody wants dinner too.” Her eyes met Sylvie’s.
“I’m Elodie,” she explained, with a smile. Sylvie returned the gesture and introduced herself, but out of politeness didn’t ask more, although she was intrigued.
“Of course, you haven’t met yet!” Constance cried.
Porthos suddenly realised he had omitted Elodie’s introduction, enthralled in the amusing talk about the upcoming youngest addition to the garrison. He winced and sighed.
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced you before,” he apologised to Elodie, feeling like an ignorant fool.
“No problem. I know you were distracted by your plate,” she said, with a smirk. Standing up, with the baby in her arms, she left the table and walked over to a quiet corner nearby.
“She is definitely a keeper,” d’Artagnan whispered to Porthos.
“Any decent woman who can tolerate Porthos’s eating habits is a keeper,” Athos quipped, smirking but not looking away from his plate, eliciting chuckles from everyone at the table.
“Nice one, Captain,” Porthos acknowledged, pretending annoyance. “Anything to get you off the hook.”
The rest of the dinner was a very pleasant affair, making the friends reminisce about more peaceful, more carefree times. They all knew the darkness still hadn’t left their lives; therefore, any, even the shortest cheerful moment was the more worthy and precious to them. But when the time came to separate for the night, the cheer faded, replaced by the troubling reality.
It had been hardly a day since the tragedy in the garrison, only a few days since Treville’s passing, and the threat of Grimaud was still alive, not allowing them to stop being vigilant and enjoy the one simple fact – the fact that they were alive.
※※※※※
Chapter 4
The night was cold; the first frost of the approaching winter covered everything, making it shimmer in the full moon. Athos stood outside the tavern, deep in thought, tired to the bone but restless. The last twenty-four hours were eventful, more than he would have liked, but among all the tragedy, scare and pain, there was at least one good news brightening the heavy, gloomy atmosphere.
His eyes were transfixed by the glow created by the Earth’s cool, pale companion, illuminating the dark sky. It seemed that the large face of the Moon was smiling at him tonight, telling him Fortune was smiling at him too. He felt as if he was seeing it for the first time…
”For love is a celestial harmony, of likely hearts compos’d of stars’ concent, which join together in sweet sympathy, to work each other’s joy and true content, which they have harbour’d since their first descent out of their heavenly bowers, where they did see and know each other here belov’d to be,” (1) Aramis’s soft, melodic voice interrupted the silence.
Athos grinned, without looking away from the object of his admiration.
”You still have it, brother,” he stated. “Even your years in the monastery couldn’t have rid you of your romantic disposition.”
Aramis closed the tavern door behind him and joined his friend, smiling.
”One cannot rid oneself of something that is a part of his soul,” he remarked.
”True,” Athos agreed, finally glancing at him. “And you would be boring without it,” he added with a smirk, making the musketeer chuckle.
”There must be a lot going on in your head right now,” Aramis remarked, putting away the light-hearted tone.
Athos’s bright eyes twinkled like diamonds, hypnotised by the Moon again.
“I feel like a ship on a sea in the middle of a storm,” he replied, “battered by waves from all sides… and yet anchored safely to one spot… The movement awakens fear in me, but at the same time, it fills me with a thrill I have never known.”
Aramis smiled. “Parenthood is always frightening and exciting at the same time. And still, you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world,” he said, his smile fading as he averted his eyes from his friend to the spectacle above them.
The Captain finally tore his eyes from the night sky and looked at his dear friend. Aramis’s face was pale in the reflection of the moonlight, and his eyes were sad.
”I’m sorry…” Athos said quietly.
Aramis turned his head, confused. “What for?” he asked.
”All the years I gave you a hard time for… “ Athos paused, sighing, haunted by remorse. “I know you have suffered greatly for having to keep quiet about it.”
About it… Athos wished he could have spoken directly, saying about your son, but he knew the street had ears even when deserted, and his friend’s safety was more important to him.
A sad smile appeared on Aramis’s face. “I know you’ve always had my best interest in mind,” he acknowledged. “You had your own, inimitable way of expressing it, but I understood.”
The Captain agreed, with a nod. In truth, there was something he had never told his friend and felt he needed to say.
“I think you are the strongest man I have ever known,” he said quietly.
Aramis averted his eyes from the sky, genuinely surprised.
”It takes courage to dare enter a dangerous territory,” Athos continued, “but a real strength having to deny what your heart desires the most and wear a brave smile despite it.”
Aramis took his time to reply to the compliment. “Trust me, sometimes it’s more difficult than facing your worst enemy,” he said, with a sad smile. “But I’ll never regret it.”
Athos put a hand on his friend’s shoulder; the simple gesture of support brought comfort into Aramis’s heart.
”I just came to lock up for the night,” the Captain said then, shutting the door to the melancholy that settled over them. “I just…” His eyes wandered up to the Moon.
”Love does strange things to us all,” Aramis remarked knowingly, sparks returning into his eyes, chasing away the sadness.
Athos chuckled, then subconsciously looked up at one of the tavern windows upstairs.
”Go.” Aramis understood the meaning of the glance; he smiled. “I’ll lock up.”
The Captain smiled as well, patted him once more on his shoulder and then turned on his heel, but Aramis’s voice stopped him.
”Athos…”
The Captain looked back, patiently waiting.
”I have no doubts that you will be a good father.”
He didn’t ask the question, and yet was given the answer to it. The fear, worry and emotional turmoil… They all had one main reason, and Aramis managed to see through the haze in Athos’s head and rationalise it for him, giving him an answer to the question he was subconsciously asking himself all day.
Before he could change his mind, Athos pulled his friend into a brotherly hug, relief and gratitude running in his veins in spades.
As the Captain disappeared inside the tavern, Aramis chuckled, then a sad sigh tore from his throat, transformed into a cloud of steam in the chilly air. He glanced at the night sky once more, then walked into the tavern and locked the door behind himself and another day.
※※※
Athos was on his way to his temporary sleeping space. The tavern had gone quiet, the wounded cadets and musketeers healing in their sleep downstairs, and most of the rest of its temporary occupiers were resting in their rooms upstairs. The Captain’s memory transported him briefly back to when he stepped into this place for the first time. It was a memory tainted by tragedy, but also of a new beginning in his life...
“Get some sleep, Brujon,” Athos said quietly to the cadet, who was sitting in what was turned into a recovery room, at a solitary candle, watching over his injured comrades. He was accompanied by a musketeer and Rochelle from the refugee camp, keeping watch over the patients. “It’s been a long two days.”
“There’s only Henri on guard here. I can’t leave him alone in case…” The young man’s words faded into the silence, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Athos smiled. “He won’t be alone. Aramis will be here with him for a few hours. D’Artagnan and I will come to relieve them later, as will Madam D’Artagnan to relieve Rochelle.”
Brujon still hesitated, casting a worried glance into the recovery room. At last, he nodded.
“Good night, Captain.” He stood up from his chair before hearing his commander speak again.
“You’ve done very well last night…The world was falling apart around you, but your bravery and quick thinking saved lives where so many have been lost.”
Since Clairmont’s passing, Brujon managed to keep a straight face, helping and providing support wherever he could. However, Captain’s words marked a new breaking point for him, and his eyes filled with tears, against his will.
Athos saw the struggle in the young man’s face. The boy who had started his training in the garrison not long before the musketeers returned from the war grew up into a man meanwhile. Still, the events of the last twenty-four hours tested him to his limit. Athos’s hand reached for the back of the cadet’s skull, cradling it like a father would when comforting his son.
“Clairmont is at peace now,” he said quietly, his eyes showing compassion and understanding, knowing how close the two friends were. “He was a good cadet, a good and honest man who would have made a great musketeer… You will never forget him or any of those who fell last night. None of us ever will.”
Brujon’s resolve finally crumbled as his chest started heaving, in an attempt to keep composure. Athos kept his hand in its place, steadying the cadet as much as he could.
“You’re not alone, Brujon,” he whispered, smiling, although his heart was aching, too.
The cadet raised his teary eyes to his commander.
“A musketeer is never alone, Brujon. Remember that…”
A grateful smile returned to his face, chasing away the tears, as Aramis’s voice emerged in his memory from his early garrison days. He nodded, holding the Captain’s encouraging gaze.
Athos patted his head once more before dropping his hand and watching the cadet leave, his burden lightened by a fraction. He sighed, and just before going upstairs as well, he noticed Aramis standing nearby, leaning against the wall. Both friends smiled at each other before Athos started ascending the staircase, following the call of his fatigue – and his heart.
※※※
“It’s so quiet,” Sylvie pondered, looking out of the window into the night. “It’s almost as if nothing ever happened.”
“Things happen, but life has to go on. Even in Paris,” Athos replied, with a tired voice.
She turned around to see his face, illuminated by the warm candle flame, and watched him take off his leather jacket, which then joined the sword, dagger and pistol already lying on the table next to him. As Athos’s smile slowly faded, Sylvie noticed the sadness and melancholy reappeared in his eyes, adding a few more fine lines around them. He still hadn’t had the time to process the immense loss he had suffered within the past week. Danger was breathing down their necks every day, leaving them no time for recovery.
She walked over to stand by his side and reached for his hand, locking it securely with hers.
Athos smiled and lifted his eyes to her. So much had happened to them in the past couple of weeks, much more than some other people would experience in their lifetime. The range of emotions he had gone through was extensive and exhausting. And yet, when his eyes found that warm, loving gaze again, his weary soul ignited with new life. He couldn’t keep his hand from diving into her long hair, slowly gliding toward her face, and his thumb from tracing her cheek. He did it countless times before, and still, it felt new and miraculous each time. The joyful spark got covered by a shadow a moment later, though.
“You should rest,” he said, his eyes glancing at her tummy with care.
“What is it?” Sylvie asked, ignoring his remark. The way she looked at him left no room for excuses.
Athos sighed, then pulled both her hands to his mouth and kissed them, studying her wrists for a beat – they were still marked by the rope ties from earlier that day. He winced, then slowly dropped them and sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as if needing some support with the imaginary load on his shoulders.
“You asked me once what life I want,” he started, his eyes fixed ahead.
Sylvie nodded, their conversation embedded in her memory like all others they had had in the past. She sat down next to him and watched him intently.
“I didn’t reply back then, but the truth is, I knew the answer already,” Athos continued. Lifting his eyes, he met her curious but calm gaze. It seemed as if she wasn’t even surprised by his revelation. “The problem was that I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t… too soon.” He exhaled loudly and shook his head, searching for the right words.
“Being a musketeer gave my life a real purpose. It filled the hole in my soul, gave me great friends, a family that I never truly felt I had. Defending my King and country was all I thought I was good at, and I never questioned if it was also how I wanted to spend my whole life.”
“But?” Sylvie inquired after he paused, her mouth half-opened now as she was engrossed in his words.
“But for a while now, I have been questioning it and started thinking it is not. In fact, after today, I know it for sure.”
She still wasn’t surprised about it, only curious about what it was that Athos really wanted. However, the mention of today gave a hint to the possible answer.
“What life do you want then?” she encouraged him calmly, the same way she did back then. Once again, the Captain admired her honest and patient curiosity. He turned his head to look into her eyes.
“A simpler life,” he answered. “Calmer, less restricted by duties I can never question. More open to making my own decisions and living a life that is purposeful and fulfilling, but away from constant danger. A life somewhere away from Paris, in the countryside, not too far away but somewhere more peaceful…”
His eyes spoke of the yearning he had been secretly hiding for a while.
“With the woman I love by my side.”
Sylvie felt it coming, yet when it came, a jolt of happiness ran through her anyway. She smiled, fascinated by the eloquent look in his deep, blue eyes. They were bright, calm and determined, leaving no questions about any doubts or uncertainty about his intention and the identity of the woman. For some time, she had had the feeling that Athos needed a proper rest for a while, but she never thought he would wish to give up being a musketeer. True, he could defend justice and help people in other ways, but still… It had been a significant part of his life for so long…
“Would you ever want to come back?” she asked, momentarily putting aside her thrill and genuinely interested. “To be a musketeer again?”
”I don’t know.” Athos shook his head. “Perhaps, one day…” He straightened himself up and took hold of her hands again. “What I want now is to wake up every day next to you without having to rush off somewhere, to watch our child grow day by day and teach it about life and love… Damnit, I could even dig up some earth and grow vegetables!” That last prospect made Sylvie laugh.
”And we could give it to the poor then!” she added, still amused but getting swept up by the fantasy.
Athos snorted and leaned his forehead against hers. His eyes regarded her tummy incredulously again; then his wide smile slowly faded, and the joyful sparks in his eyes vanished.
Sylvie pulled back slightly and tilted her head, uncomprehending of his sudden change of mood.
”Athos?” she asked. Their looks met again.
”I can’t ask you to leave Paris only because I wish to do so,” he said. “You have friends here; you do work that is important for you, for everyone…”
”So do you,” Sylvie smiled, her hand lifting their joined hands to her chest.
”My place… our place is with you, wherever that may be,” she stated the truth, clear to both of them. “I have been driven away from my home by war. For years, I was an outcast until you became my home. Now we can create a home together. It doesn’t matter where it is. As long as we are together, that’s all that matters.” Something glistened in Athos’s eyes.
“Rochelle and some others can continue in what I’ve started. And I’m sure there are as many people in need or wanting to learn to read and write in the country as there are in Paris. Besides…” She raised her eyebrows, a sparkle of cheer returning into her gaze. “I am a country girl, remember?”
Athos chuckled again, a wondrous expression not leaving his face.
”Do you never doubt me?” he wanted to know, still amazed at her absolute trust in him, whichever path he led them on.
Sylvie’s hand gently traced his stubbly cheek. “Not for a second,” she replied earnestly. “From the first moment we met, you never gave me a reason to. You may have confused me once or twice, but I never doubted there was an explanation to clear it.”
”I can’t guarantee it will be easy,” Athos continued, his heart swelling.
”When is life easy?” She shrugged and smiled. “That’s why it’s scary but beautiful.”
Words deserted the Captain yet again. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but the unwavering devotion and courage of the woman in front of him were a constant source of strength for him. He pulled Sylvie into his arms and breathed a sigh of relief. Her gentle hand stroked his head, softly and unhurried.
“When will you tell them?” she asked while her fingers played with the waves of his hair.
”Not before we are done with Grimaud,” Athos replied, his relaxed features momentarily hardening at the mention of his Nemesis. “But first, I’ll need to speak to someone else.”
He went quiet, softly breathing into her long hair and finally letting all the emotions from the day sink in. There was a lot to think about and do still, but not that night. He needed a few hours of sleep before relieving Aramis on watch duty.
The dream would have to wait for a bit longer.
__________________________________
(1) Edmund Spenser: Fowre Hymnes
※※※※※
A new day arrived, predominantly a cloudy one, with occasional patches of blue here and there. The air was crisp and surprisingly fresh, a rarity in the mostly dirty Pais, often reeking of waste and anything unpleasant. It almost seemed as if the city itself decided to clean up for the special day and breathe in the new hope, bringing new life into its tired and wrecked streets.
The Notre Dame Cathedral stood tall majestically, watching over its city as a guardian, unaffected by all the events that shaped its history. Three young women stood under its mighty wings. They were accompanied by a small group of musketeers and a handful of cadets standing nearby, ready to fulfil their duty to the Crown once more. They were not alone - the number of people gathered along the Seine, lining the road leading to the Cathedral, was impressive.
Merely a few days after the City was in mourning for King Louis XIII and Minister Treville, it seemed that its inhabitants were more than ready for a new era. Even the recent, brief scandal involving fake pamphlets about the Queen's non-existent affair with a Spanish man didn't seem to have deterred the Parisians from the special occasion. Everybody was waiting for the arrival of the new Regent and the new, young King.
"I have to say I'm quite curious to see the Queen," Elodie said, smiling and cradling her baby daughter.
"Seeing her for the first time is always a special moment," Constance replied cheerfully. "It'll be worth it, trust me."
"I wonder how she'll cope with it," Sylvie pondered. "She's in a difficult situation. The war with Spain is still on, and she's a woman in a man's world, even if on the highest post. She's always been protected from everything while the King was alive, but now she stands alone. It can't be easy."
Constance smiled at her friend. "I would have never believed you would feel sympathy for her," she said.
Their eyes met, and Sylvie smiled shyly.
"I just..." She shook her head. "I think I never knew much about her when she was guarded behind the palace walls."
"But you do now."
"Yes, and I also know how difficult it is for a woman to gain respect among men... as I'm sure you know too."
"As we all do," Elodie added. "But at least we are surrounded by men who do respect women."
The three friends chuckled. Sylvie couldn't resist glancing toward the Musketeers, waiting for their Sovereign to arrive. The Captain and his three friends stood together, occasionally engaged in conversation, only Athos was quiet and seemed deep in thought. A shadow of uncertainty settled on his face as if he was expecting something evil to come into the light any minute. Sylvie knew the name of the evil very well - Grimaud. Until Athos saw his lifeless body with his own eyes, he would know no real peace.
A sudden outburst of cheer and applause made them all turn toward the road again - the royal carriage appeared in the distance, slowly approaching the cathedral.
"We'd better get inside," Sylvie remarked.
"I want to see her getting out," Elodie said, unexpectedly excited all at once.
"We'll be right there, after the Queen enters the church," Constance said to her friend, smiling.
After one last glance toward the carriage, Sylvie walked away, heading for the cathedral to join a few friends from the refugee camp. Suddenly, she felt a wave of a strange thrill. The prospect of being invited to a ceremony that was always restricted to royal dignitaries and officials felt both incredible and humbling. For the first time, the whole of Paris was invited to a royal service. The wealthy and the poor, the known and the less known, the privileged and the underprivileged would be sitting side by side and witnessing a new dawn for France. For the first time, the boundaries between social classes seemed to have diminished, even if just for a day, and Paris was united.
As Sylvie stepped into the centuries-old shrine, a sudden cold shiver ran through her.
I guess winter is truly upon us now, she thought. However, at the same time, she couldn't suppress the shadow of a foreboding growing in her heart. She put her arms around herself, in an attempt to ward off the chill, sat down at one of the benches in the back and waited.
※
The royal carriage finally stopped on the road, greeted by enthusiastic cheers from the crowd. Aramis stepped to the door and opened it, offering his gloved hand to the Queen. Their eyes met, and their shared joy was palpable. Aramis helped her to get out of the carriage, as she, with a beaming smile, helped the young Louis XIV to follow her.
The musketeer couldn't help thinking that the Queen looked like a breathtaking vision from fairy stories his mother used to tell him when he was a little boy. Her rich cobalt blue dress, illuminated by brass and stone floral ornaments, and the Royal Crown set with large, precious blue stones gave her an otherworldly aura. Her son's clothes and cloak mirrored her colours, and together, they created a truly majestic image.
"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Elodie remarked to Constance, as they watched Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan surround the royal pair and walk them towards the cathedral. "But in the country, few speak well of her."
"Many things will change after today," Constance replied optimistically, happy to see her Queen radiant again and welcomed so warmly.
Elodie smiled at her baby, then her eyes wandered toward the cathedral. A man in a black cloak, dressed as a priest, made his way toward the side door. Elodie's smile faded.
"That man," she said, making Constance look in the same direction.
"He was at the tavern," Madame d'Artagnan replied, remembering finding him in the cellar, in desperate need of medical treatment before he vanished again. "Do you know him?"
The man slipped into the cathedral, unnoticed by the crowd.
"The musketeers came to my home looking for him," Elodie answered, a bad feeling creeping into her bones.
Constance's blood froze in her veins as she connected the dots in her mind. She immediately turned away and hastily started walking toward the musketeers.
"Oh God..." she mumbled to herself, realising the danger looming above them, pushing people in her way aside.
"D'Artagnan!" she cried at her husband. "D'Artagnan..." She lowered her voice when she finally reached him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, knitting his brows.
"Grimaud..." Constance whispered, catching her breath.
"Where?"
She pointed toward the cathedral. "In there!"
The four men and the other guard members immediately formed a circle around the Queen and the little King.
"We're missing half of our gunpowder from the garrison," Porthos said quietly to Athos, frowning. The Captain lowered his head, sighing. "If he's got it..."
"We need to get everybody away from here," Athos replied after lifting his head again.
"Everybody?" Constance asked, stunned.
"Do it, now!" he ordered quietly.
So it begins again... Athos thought, angry and at the same time, anxious to get his hands on Grimaud. He turned to Aramis.
"Take the Queen. He's here," he whispered, then followed Porthos and d'Artagnan to the cathedral.
"We cannot proceed," Aramis informed the Queen calmly, observed by the remaining musketeers and cadets within earshot.
"Why?"
"Grimaud's inside."
A veil of horror fell over the Queen's face after hearing those words.
"We're moving, back to the carriage!" Aramis called to his comrades.
He turned around, taking the future King in his arms. The Queen walked side by side with him, with a distraught expression on her face as she took quick steps.
"The people look to you, Majesty," Aramis remarked while slowing his walk, prompting her to do the same. "Calm."
He looked at the boy in his arms, who seemed unaffected by the commotion. "I'm Aramis."
The child smiled, and the musketeer mirrored his expression. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he felt warmth spreading in his chest - the special kind of warmth reserved only for mothers and fathers.
Meanwhile, d'Artagnan burst the cathedral doors open and entered, followed by his friends.
"Leave the cathedral as quickly as possible!" Porthos ordered the people inside, making his way forward.
"All of you, with us, now!" Constance followed his example.
Sylvie joined Constance. "The Queen..."
"Go!"
Sylvie understood quickly that time was of the essence and started helping her friends move people out of the shrine.
Athos and d'Artagnan ran immediately toward the stairs leading down to the tombs. When they descended underground, they lost their cloaks and the Captain his hat, as well. Their watchful eyes roamed the dim, cold space, lit only by a few torches on the walls.
"Athos!" the Gascon called out, staring at the ground.
The Captain turned around and noticed countless igniter cords lying everywhere around them. When he spotted sparks devouring one of them already, he uttered a simple word, with a strained voice. "Quickly!"
They ran around in all directions, hastily pulling out the cords from the small barrels filled with gunpowder - the same that went missing from the garrison. Running against the time, they quickly managed to avert the disaster, and with pistols and torches in their hands, they continued the cautious search for Grimaud.
Corridor after dark corridor, they carefully walked on, hoping to spot a trace of their enemy. The light of their torches flickered, creating haunting, dancing shadows on the walls, as they slowly parted and each walked deeper in their respective tunnels.
D'Artagnan was just about to cut the next corner when a suspicious sound made him turn around quickly - just in time because the dark figure of Grimaud raised his hand, holding a sword, and launched an attack on the Gascon. D'Artagnan was quick enough to fire a shot from his pistol at him, slowing the attack. However, Grimaud was relentless. Their swords clashed, and the sound of a fight shattered the silence in the underground.
Grimaud might have been badly injured, but his dark mind was driven by revenge stronger than his physical pain. D'Artagnan was an excellent swordfighter, but he, like many before him, quickly understood that even his skills would be tested to the limit. In an unguarded moment, Grimaud lashed out at him, and the blade of his sword grazed the musketeer's cheek. Caught off guard, d'Artagnan jumped backwards, stumbled and fell to the ground.
Grimaud was raising his arm with the sword, preparing for a fatal blow, when his eyes registered a glow approaching from the corridor around the bend. Within seconds, Athos emerged from the darkness, forcing Grimaud to retreat and disappear, only just avoiding the gunshot from the Captain's pistol. Athos was suddenly very hungry to finish the task ahead - to defeat his Nemesis for good. The shadow he had been chasing for months was finally within reach, and he was not going to let it slip through his fingers again, not this time.
He was just about to run after Grimaud when d'Artagnan's hand stopped him.
"No!" Athos cried when his friend wanted to run with him, putting his hand on the young man's chest to prevent him from doing so.
"What?" the Gascon was uncomprehending.
"I need this!"
"What?!"
"I need to do this... alone." The fires in Athos's eyes burned wildly, a reflection of the storm brewing inside him.
They stared at each other for a beat, Athos begging for understanding, d'Artagnan slowly realising this was meant to be. It was the only way the Captain could exorcise his own demon... if the demon didn't destroy him...
He handed Athos his sword, wanting to help at least somehow. His friend was, after all, famous for his skill in masterfully using a sword with both hands.
"I will not raise your child," d'Artagnan insisted, his eyes on fire, burning into the Captain's.
Athos acknowledged the meaning of those words, then withdrew his hand from d'Artagnan, and armed with both swords, he disappeared in the darkness.
※
D'Artagnan was waiting at the same place where Athos had left him, restlessly pacing there and back. It wasn't in his nature to stand back passively while his comrades were fighting. The soldier in him was eager to run after the Captain, but the friend in him understood why he couldn't.
Aramis was right; Grimaud awakened something in Athos that had not only robbed him of his peaceful sleep but also caused some deep disturbance in his soul, something that shook his usually stoic and assured self, making him more vulnerable than ever before. That was why only Athos was meant to deal the final blow; only then could he regain his peace...
D'Artagnan listened out for any sound, his nerves strung to the maximum. He forced himself to stop for a moment and leaned against the nearest wall. It was cold, and despite his uniform keeping him relatively warm, the musketeer felt the chill penetrating its layers. For a moment, his mind wandered to Constance, thanking Providence that she spotted Grimaud entering the cathedral. He shuddered when thinking of what would have happened if she hadn't.
Grimaud was an evil like the musketeers had not encountered before. The Cardinal, Rochefort, Gaston... not even Feron were as unpredictable as the rogue dressed all in black. All the others were cruel, but it was as if Grimaud was a real dark shadow, a sorcerer appearing and vanishing where he pleased and striking and going for the kill at the most unexpected times, spreading dread even before his physical appearance. His unsuccessful effort to blow up the cathedral with the Queen and the new King in it must have enraged him. What if he hadn't used all of the gunpowder in his hands? What if Athos is running into a trap with no way to return?
The musketeer's eyes widened just as he heard it - the sharp sound of swords clashing and the subsequent loud splash of something (or someone?) falling into the water. D'Artagnan was done with waiting. He pushed himself off the wall and immediately made the decision.
He ran, following the sounds in the distance.
※※※※※
"Love... has made you weak," the villain added, followed by a vicious laugh. Athos slowed his pace, taking step after step with utter caution. "Don't you know... every man... dies... alone?"
"He doesn't have to live alone," Athos said through his teeth, his focus fully on Grimaud's painful grimace.
Athos was not interested in wasting any more time and pushed Grimaud underwater, holding him with an iron grip of his fists.
Seconds passed, andth amount of bubbles appearing on the water surface was getting smaller, until it stopped, and the body that only a few moments ago was alive, ceased all resistance. Athos's breathing was still laboured, but when he realised Grimaud was finally not among the living anymore, it started to slow gradually, until it returned to normal. The Captain breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, his hands still on Grimaud's chest under water. The sudden silence entered his head as well, and Athos knew what peace of mind meant at last.
D'Artagnan didn't question his friend's decision; Grimaud showed them several times how many lives he had.
"I agree," he replied and got up. Only then did he notice Athos's hand pressed against his side.
"Are you hurt?" He knitted his eyebrows with worry.
"Nothing Aramis couldn't patch together again," the Captain replied carelessly.
D'Artagnan decided to believe him, although still a little rattled. "I'll get some ropes."
He walked quickly back into the tunnels, disappearing from sight.
There is no escape for you this time, Grimaud... No more running and hiding, no more terror, no more death...
※※※
“Do you think they might need help?” the Queen asked Aramis while her eyes wandered toward the cathedral again. She was sitting in the carriage, her arms sheltering her son from any possible harm. The Dauphin appeared unafraid and comfortable in his mother’s embrace. The carriage was surrounded by musketeers and cadets.
“I am not sure,” the musketeer replied hesitantly, hoping to spot his friends any moment. His heart was telling him to follow his comrades, but his loyalty to his Captain’s orders had him rooted to the spot, keeping the Regent and the heir to the throne of France out of harm’s way. His instinct whispered words of hope into his ear, though. “Yet… I have a feeling Athos will not let Grimaud slip away this time.”
”I pray to God you are right, Aramis,” the Queen breathed. Her eyes fell on the three young women standing nearby.
Constance, Elodie, with her baby in her arms, and Sylvie were trying to remain calm, sharing a few words now and then. However, none of them could resist glancing in the cathedral’s way, hoping to see Athos and d’Artagnan emerge from its main door. Porthos stood tall like a tower halfway between the Queen’s carriage and Notre Dame, as if deciding whether to stay and guard the Queen or run inside to help his friends.
“Is the pretty woman with the baby a friend of yours? I don’t remember ever seeing her in the garrison,” the Queen asked with interest, grateful for any distraction from the tense situation. She had visited the musketeers’ base only once but heard enough about it to know Constance was the only woman there for a long time.
“Yes, Elodie, she’s a…” Aramis hesitated, suddenly unsure what to say, “a close friend of Porthos.”
“Close,” the Regent repeated, her lips curling into a smile.
Aramis chuckled. “Quite close, I would say. The baby is not his, but he helped to deliver it when we were chasing after Grimaud outside of Paris. She followed Porthos to Paris not long after. Elodie is a war widow…”
“Oh,” the Queen’s smile faded. “How many more women will still have to share the same fate, I wonder?”
“Too many, I’m afraid… until all those responsible for wars will finally understand that want of power is never a justifiable reason for sending innocent lives to slaughter.”
His words added even more gravity to the heavy atmosphere of the moment; a dark shadow of sadness fell over both of their faces. The Queen was the first to recover.
“Is the other woman standing next to Constance Sylvie?” she asked, looking at the trio again.
“Yes, that is Sylvie Bodaire, your Majesty,” Aramis replied. “She is a good woman, one of honour and a noble heart. She has been of great help to all of us several times.”
“Constance told me a bit more about her recently. I know she helped her to protect our…” She stopped, suddenly aware of the surroundings, “to protect the Dauphin. And I know the King wrongly accused her of spreading false rumours about me. I haven’t had the chance to speak with her yet. Could you call her, please?”
Aramis smiled and walked away from the carriage for the first time since he had escorted the sovereign and her son to it. He returned with Sylvie by his side. She looked a little surprised and unsure. Nevertheless, she did a small bow resembling a curtsy, then looked into the Queen’s sky-blue eyes.
“Your Majesty,” she said. Regardless of her warmer attitude toward the Crown in recent days, she wondered why the unofficial ruler of France would want to speak with a commoner like her.
The Queen smiled gently at her, melting the ice of uncertainty immediately.
“Thank you…,” were her first words, bringing a puzzled expression onto Sylvie’s face, “for standing up for the people of Paris in the worst times and for helping to protect my son.”
Sylvie didn’t know what to say. She glanced incredulously at Aramis – he was grinning.
The Queen sensed the woman’s shock, and her smile widened. “A woman unafraid of swordfights suddenly at a loss for words?” she teased.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Sylvie managed to say eventually. “I only did what my conscience told me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for those who can’t stand up for or defend themselves.”
“And France is grateful for people like you. I hope I’ll be able to prove it to you more in the future.”
Sylvie finally smiled, her view of the Queen changing rapidly by the minute. In the past, her image of the sovereign was that of a distant authority living closed off in a fancy castle and disinterested in their people. The image she saw now was one of a woman who had been through personal losses and difficulties and became a fellow human being, genuinely caring about her country and its future, closer to her folk than ever before.
“I am truly sorry about the way you were treated,” the Regent apologised, genuine guilt colouring her voice. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any excuse for the ordeal you had to go through because of the false accusation. I can only say that I wish it had never happened.”
”It wasn’t your fault, Majesty. It was a misunderstanding,” Sylvie replied graciously, not holding any grudges. “Grimaud proved a tougher and smarter enemy than we all thought. Thankfully, I had someone standing by me,” She smiled.
The Queen mirrored her emotion. “I’ve heard of the Captain’s intervention. I would expect nothing less from a man of justice.” And in love, she thought to herself.
Sylvie smiled again, but the Queen’s warm and friendly way of speaking with her couldn’t calm her worried mind. She turned her head toward the cathedral for the hundredth time in the past half an hour, feeling the beat of her heart rising to her throat. Her hand inadvertently cradled her tummy.
Where are they??
Her silent question was answered immediately, as d’Artagnan appeared at the cathedral door, stepping out into the daylight. Forgetting about the royal protocol, Sylvie ran toward the musketeer.
”Grimaud is dead,” d’Artagnan stated, with a relieved expression on his face.
Sylvie registered the welcome reality only on the periphery of her mind. She was much more interested in something else.
”Athos?” she breathed, hungry for the most important information.
The corners of d’Artagnan’s mouth turned upwards, and he looked over his shoulder.
There he suddenly was: walking slowly but steadily, holding his side and looking very tired, Athos was making his way toward his friends. He saw Porthos growing an inch taller and grinning as he saw his Captain alive. And then a sigh left his throat when he saw Sylvie almost running toward him. He barely managed to open his arms to her when she crushed into his frame, for the second time in two days, making him wince from slight pain but not stepping back.
“Thank God they are both fine!” Constance said with relief and walked briskly to meet her husband. Elodie slowly followed her, smiling.
”I had no idea Athos had a companion until that unhappy incident,” the Queen remarked with a wondrous smile. “The Captain is quite an enigma sometimes.”
Aramis chuckled. “It’s a rather complicated story, but luckily, one with a happy ending.”
“God knows we all need some happy ending after everything we have been through in the past years.” The Queen’s smile faded, her look briefly turning distant.
“Let’s hope they have good news for us,” Aramis replied, noticing her expression but not daring to dwell on it.
While Porthos listened to d’Artagnan recalling the details of Grimaud’s demise, Sylvie pulled back from Athos, relieved and grateful to feel his nearness again.
“I was beginning to wonder…” she started, looking into his eyes as they studied her face.
“… if I allowed Grimaud to open the gates of Hell for me?” Athos finished her thought, amused.
Sylvie frowned and shook her head. “You have no place in Hell. There are enough ill-tempered individuals down there,” she added, and her mouth twitched.
Her remark made him chuckle, but seeing her amusement fade, his face turned more serious.
“It’s Grimaud who is walking in it right now,” he stated. “It’s over, for good this time.”
“Thank God and you for that.”
Sylvie smiled, and her hand reached for his cheek. Suddenly, she realised Athos looked quite pale and very tired. She narrowed her eyes, searching for any sign of something more telling to see. Obliging her involuntarily, Athos winced again, and his hand covered his side. Sylvie immediately looked down and noticed the blood seeping through his uniform.
“You’re hurt!” she cried, worried, and turned around, looking toward the carriage. “Aramis!”
“I’m all right,“ Athos tried to calm her down. “I can promise you I will live through this.”
“What you will promise me now is to have him look at you and do what he says,” Sylvie said sternly, “otherwise I’ll send you after Grimaud myself.”
Her determination made him smile, warming his heart despite the dull pain in his side. He couldn’t resist the urge and kissed her.
“Anything you say,” he whispered then, relishing in the sweet feeling of pleasant light-headedness.
“I’ve always known you can’t live without me,” Aramis interrupted their tender moment, grinning.
“You better return to your senses, my friend, for they seem to have deserted you,” Athos returned the teasing, feigning annoyance.
“Before you two go on in your love talk, have a look at his right side, he’s injured,” Sylvie told Aramis, her face serious and uncompromising. Good old Sylvie, Aramis thought, amused, do it or die.
“Shirt up,” he ordered the Captain.
Athos sighed and did as told.
Aramis examined Athos’s stab wound; only a weak trickle of blood was still coming to the skin’s surface. Grimaud's blade was sharp but did not cause a life-threatening injury.
“You are lucky,” he said then. “It seems Grimaud wasn’t as good a swordsman as I thought. He missed your vital organs. I’ll need to clean the wound, stitch it up and bandage it, but…” He straightened himself up and looked into the Captain’s eyes, grinning. “You will live.”
Athos glanced at Sylvie, raising his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and chuckled. She put Athos’s cloak over his shoulders; he had dropped it on the ground at their reunion.
“I need to report to the Queen,” the Captain stated, pulling his cloak tighter, feeling the chill of the winter day creeping into his bones.
They all walked toward the royal carriage, on the way joining d’Artagnan, Constance, Porthos and Elodie. When Athos approached the carriage, he made a bow – a slightly less graceful one, due to his injury.
“The danger is over, Your Majesty. Grimaud is dead and you and the Dauphin are safe again,” he said solemnly.
The Queen sighed in relief, then replied after a pause. “Safe… for how long I wonder…”
Athos eloquently lowered his eyes, not answering. They both knew there would always be those posing a threat to the Crown. The question was only when and how they would appear next.
“France is in your debt, Captain. You have our gratitude, both of you,” she nodded to d’Artagnan, who returned her gesture. “You have proved again that Treville chose a worthy successor to lead the musketeers.”
Now it was Athos’s turn to nod, in grateful acknowledgement.
“And now let Aramis help you,” the Queen said then, smiling. “I believe you are in need of his attention.” Her smile turned cheeky as she glanced at the group behind the Captain’s back. “And of someone else’s.”
Athos didn’t need to turn around to understand. His lips curled involuntarily as sparks returned to his warm eyes.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed and retreated from the carriage, suddenly feeling revived by the cold breeze caressing his cheeks.
※※※※※
Chapter 7
With the Blessing Ceremony come and gone, without interruptions this time, and with the Queen and the Dauphin safely departed to return to the Louvre, the enthusiastic crowd began to disperse, leaving Notre Dame to her eternal watch duty over the City that they called their home. Only the small group of musketeers remained standing in the cathedral’s shadow, accompanied by Constance, Sylvie, Elodie and Brujon, discussing the extraordinary events of the day. Neither of them was eager to leave for their duties yet, for a simple reason - they all counted their own blessings for being alive and having new hope for the future.
“We’d better get back to the garrison,” Constance said eventually. “Now that we don’t have Grimaud breathing on our necks, we can continue clearing it properly.”
”Maybe you should leave it to the men,” Porthos replied with a worried frown. “You know there will still be some…” his voice faded. Everyone knew what he meant. Dead bodies…
”I think we’ve already established that we are made of stronger stuff than you think,” Elodie remarked earnestly. “The last almost five years made us tougher than many men are.”
Porthos lowered his eyes and nodded.
”I will ask around in the camp for more helpers,” Sylvie said, exchanging smiles with Constance.
”The Queen promised to send some of the guards from the palace as well to help,” Aramis added.
D’Artagnan looked at Athos, who still seemed tired, holding his injured side. “You should rest,” he said, still worried.
To his friends’ great surprise, the Captain didn’t contradict him. He looked at their faces, then sighed.
”I think you’re right,” he agreed, resigned. “I need some sleep.”
”I’d say you need a long one, my friend,” Aramis remarked, knowing only too well how many restless nights Athos had had recently. “Besides, you wouldn’t help your injury if you started bending and lifting heavy things.” He smiled and patted Athos on his shoulder, seeing his deflated face. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be something useful you can do until you get better.”
The friends chuckled, including the Captain. He didn’t want to leave them to deal with the devastation alone, but acknowledged his need for recovery.
”All right, I’ll go back to the tavern to get some rest,” he said. “But let me know if you need anything.”
”We’ll be fine, just go get some sleep finally!” Constance exclaimed, with raised eyebrows. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
Athos sighed. “You’re always so nice to me, Constance,” he remarked, dryly, making Sylvie chuckle.
Madame d’Artagnan grinned. “Just because you’re the Captain doesn’t mean you don’t need some straightening up sometimes.”
Athos couldn’t resist a grin, which then turned into a heartfelt smile. Looking at the familiar faces around him, he was reminded how much they meant to him. These people were the grounds his life stood upon - they were his family.
“Let’s go then,” Constance ordered, and the small group set out to the ruins of the garrison, leaving Athos and Sylvie alone.
Sylvie squeezed the Captain’s hand. “I’ll drop you off at the tavern before going to the camp.”
“No need. I can perfectly manage on my own,” Athos replied. “Just… Don’t worry about me.” He smiled.
“As you wish,” Sylvie agreed, although her eyes spoke of the opposite. “You go and lie down, that’s an order. I’ll see you when I get back.” She kissed him gently.
”Be careful,” he couldn’t help remarking, glancing at her tummy.
”I’ll try,” Sylvie teased, grinning.
Athos’s smile widened, his eyes lingering on her face for a beat longer. He nodded and slowly released her hand, then watched her turn and walk toward the refugee camp.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head slightly back, and exhaled loudly, releasing a cloud of steam from his mouth. A blissful smile curled his lips as he still couldn’t get enough of the feeling of peace within his soul. He opened his eyes, seeing the majestic bell towers climbing high into the sky. A sudden urge washed over him. He decided to walk back to the cathedral door and step inside for the third time that day.
The impressive arches, statues, chandeliers, and intricate, colourful rose windows suddenly looked very different in his eyes. Athos didn’t remember when was the last time he stepped inside a church without being on duty or to prevent some dangerous situation. He never had time to simply look around and let his spiritual side come out of hibernation to truly appreciate places of worship. His long years of drowning in sorrow and grieving over his past didn’t make him feel close to God either. However, in the past year, things had changed, his life had changed, and Athos finally saw the light again…
His eyes roamed around the immense space as if seeing it for the first time. He stopped near the first line of benches, admiring several grand mays, beautiful altarpieces, painted by the Parisian goldsmith guild. As a soldier, Athos had few chances of admiring art, but he was not oblivious to it. He sat down on a bench, his hands inadvertently clasped together as if praying.
“I don’t know if You can hear me,” Athos spoke hesitantly. “For years, I wasn’t even sure if You are even there… but I do want to thank You… “ He sighed. “Everything You sent into my path, the good and the bad… It made me who I am today. Now I understand that.”
A smile appeared on his face. “I don’t know if I am worthy, but thank You for bringing her into my life, both of them… I promise I will do everything to not mess this up, for I know I will never receive a greater gift.”
Athos suddenly felt he didn’t have enough words to express all the feelings that threatened to burst out of his chest. All the joy, thrill, love and wonder blended in his heart, creating harmony and peace in his soul like he had never known. After a few more silent moments, the Captain slowly and with some effort stood up. He bowed his head toward the altar once more and walked out of the cathedral, leaving it to its afternoon contemplation.
A pair of deep, dark eyes followed him out from behind one of the tall pillars. As he closed the heavy door, Sylvie appeared in a ray of light penetrating one of the windows and retraced his steps to leave the cathedral as well. She secretly and quietly entered it minutes ago, worried and curious, after seeing Athos walking inside instead of going to the tavern.
Now, a warm and grateful smile lingered on her face. She turned around to look toward the altar.
“We may not always make sense of this world by Your will… but I know You guide us where we are meant to be in the end. And that’s worth everything.”
She nodded, and just as the bells chimed another hour that had passed, she slipped out of the cathedral and finally set out for the refugee camp.
※※※
The sky had finally turned blue when Athos decided he couldn’t go to the tavern yet. His feet carried him toward the Louvre palace. It took him longer than usual, without a horse and carrying an injury, but he knew the matter he wanted to sort out couldn’t wait. He had no problems getting inside, with all guards recognising the Captain of the Musketeers. The respect he had gained since Treville promoted him to lead the garrison grew every day, especially after the events of that day.
He finally made it to the quarters he usually entered only with Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan, when his services were required.
”I need to speak with the Queen,” he announced to one of the guards at the entrance to the Regent’s private quarters. “In a personal matter.”
The man nodded, turned around and walked away through the reception room, leaving the Captain waiting. When he returned, he resumed his position. “The Queen is expecting you.”
Athos passed the guards and walked down the familiar route until he reached the door of the sovereign’s bedroom. Out of respect, he knocked before entering.
The Queen was sitting at the window with a book in her hand. She smiled but couldn’t mask her surprise at seeing the Captain again that day, especially knowing he needed rest to recover from his injury.
”Athos…” She stood up and walked to him. “You should be in bed.”
The musketeer bowed, smiling.
”I’m on my way there, Majesty, but there is something I need to talk to you about first, something personal,” he replied, lifting his eyes back to her face. There was a trace of regret and hesitation in his look.
The Queen waited a moment before speaking again.
”Why do I have the feeling I will not like what you are about to say?” she asked.
Athos chuckled. “The last thing I wish is to displease my Queen. However… I cannot withhold the truth from Your Majesty.”
”Rebuild the garrison, Captain…”
He sighed, remembering the monarch’s words to him just a little while ago.
“In all the years of being a musketeer, I have served my King and you, I have served France. There were times when I found it difficult, but I don’t regret it for a minute. It has been a great honour and has taught me more than I could have ever hoped for.” He paused.
The Queen listened intently.
”The honour has been ours, Captain,” she remarked, smiling. “There have been only a few people as loyal and devoted as you, and even fewer who we… who I ever regarded as dear friends.”
Athos lowered his eyes again, humbled. When he lifted them again, the Queen noticed the determination in his look.
”I have always fulfilled Your Majesty’s wishes. However, there is one I cannot fulfil… I cannot rebuild the garrison.”
The sovereign’s eyes widened with surprise. She was about to inquire why when Athos continued.
”It has been my dear and cherished home for many years, but I cannot rebuild it for the time has come when my place is somewhere else, with someone else…”
The Queen was suddenly hit by realisation and her mouth curled in a soft smile. Athos smiled as well, his face suddenly glowing.
”I am to become a father,” he stated, moved. “I’m sure Your Majesty will understand how important it is for me to be there for my child now, and for his mother, the woman I love…”
The Queen nodded, with a beaming smile, her bright eyes reflecting the joy she shared with him.
”I do,” she agreed, “and words cannot express how happy I am for you, for both of you. I know fatherhood and family life will bring you the happiness you deserve so much.”
”Thank you, Majesty,” Athos said quietly, grateful.
”Have you thought about your replacement?” she asked.
”I have. I don’t think I could choose a better and more honourable man than him. I will tell him soon.”
The Regent smiled. With Athos’s previous recommendations for the new First Minister and Porthos’s promotion to a higher military rank, it was not difficult for her to guess who the Captain meant.
”I think you are right,” she agreed. “Will you ever come back?”
Athos thought for a moment before replying. “That would depend on various things.”
”You will always have a home here, Athos, don’t ever forget that.”
The Queen looked suddenly a bit emotional. She didn’t even get the chance to say farewell to Treville, and now she had to part with another dear friend. Athos couldn’t help but feel the same. The Regent had never treated him in any way but kindly and justly.
“Let’s consider this an indefinite leave of absence,” the Queen suggested then, with a beaming smile.
The musketeer chuckled, nodding. “Let’s.”
The Queen sighed. “We shall miss you,” she remarked, with a sad smile. “Your opinions have always been of great value to us.”
“I am sure Aramis will be more than an equal help in any matter…”
“Athos…” She raised her eyebrows.
“… of political importance.” He mimicked her expression, making her chuckle. The memory of their recent conversation warmed her heart.
“Where will you go?” she asked then.
Athos pondered. “I have an idea but that is not only up to me to decide. It doesn’t really matter, though, as long as I have Sylvie and our child by my side.”
The Queen regarded him fondly for a moment, then turned around and walked to her prayer desk by the window. She opened one of its drawers and took something out of it. Then she returned to Athos.
“I would like to give you something for your child,” she said and opened her hand, revealing a small but intricately decorated gold cross on a gold chain.
Athos was searching for words as his eyes studied the masterfully crafted piece of jewellery.
“Your Majesty, I…”
“I brought it with me from Spain when I got married,” the Queen didn’t let him finish. “My mother gave it to me when I was a child. She said it would always rightfully guide my heart and lead me where I was supposed to be… “ She sighed. “It has served its purpose well and given me great comfort many times.” A smile appeared on her delicate face again. “I have found my place. Therefore… Give it to your son or daughter one day, and tell them it was a gift to one of the most honourable men the Queen of France had ever known. May it help them to find their right way in life, wherever it leads them.”
Athos swallowed hard, unable to speak; the words suddenly didn’t seem to exist. To receive such a personal and emotionally precious gift from the ruler of France was something unimaginable, an honour bestowed only upon the very best and most appreciated. He slowly opened his hand, letting her gently drop the pendant onto his palm.
“They will cherish it, Majesty…” he said with difficulty, his eyes unexpectedly glistening.
The Queen smiled warmly. “I know they will, for I know their father.”
Those words made Athos smile as well. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“God be with you all,” she replied.
The Captain bowed as low as his injury allowed him and slowly straightened up again. The monarch nodded, still smiling. Athos turned and started for the door when suddenly the Queen’s words forced him to look back.
“If you ever need anything, you know you have friends here,” she remarked. “And do stay in touch. That’s my last order to you, Captain. For now,” she added knowingly.
Athos’s smile widened.
“Majesty,” he said and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the Queen alone – and beaming.
※※※※※
Chapter 8
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe"
That evening, Porthos and Aramis walked into the tavern, bone-weary and hungry. The first thing that greeted them was the clanking sound of cutlery and lively voices from the room that only a few days ago served as an improvised hospital. Now there were tables with large pots of something very pleasantly smelling and the remains of what used to be a large group of musketeers and cadets, sharing their evening meal together.
After a quick wash of their hands and faces, Aramis and Porthos shuffled into the kitchen, carelessly dropping their weapons on the table.
”Some things never change, I guess,” Constance stated and raised her eyebrows, glancing at the swords and pistols on the dining table that she was just about to set for dinner, then looking back at the two musketeers.
They didn’t reply but obediently took their weapons and put them on a couple of chairs in the corner. Then they returned to the table.
”Soldiers…” Constance shook her head. “They never learn any manners.”
Porthos, whose behaviour was fairly marked by his rising hunger, frowned.
”A lecture on manners is definitely what we need after the third day of shovelling ash and ruins,” he remarked grumpily.
Aramis, always the diplomat, didn’t wish to antagonise either of his friends but was too tired to intervene in a light tone, so he lowered his eyes and waited for the storm to pass. Elodie, stirring something in a large pot, was quiet as well, understanding the toll the tragedy in the garrison had taken on all of them.
The prolonged eye contact between Madame d’Artagnan and Porthos melted the ice, though, as both regretted their remarks instantly.
”I’m sorry,” Constance apologised first, sighing. “I know it’s been a hard few days for all of us… I guess old habits die hard.”
”No, it’s fine,” Porthos countered more softly, genuinely sorry. “I guess I’m just not as tough as I thought I was.” His eyes dropped to his hands as he remembered finding the body of one more cadet in the garrison rubble that day. Elodie cast a compassionate glance at him.
Aramis put his hand on Porthos’s shoulder, understanding his sentiment.
“I’d better set the table,” Constance said quietly, empathy filling her eyes.
”I’ll help you,” Aramis offered and stood up.
Porthos sighed and leaned back on his chair, trying not to give in to sadness. A new dawn in all their lives had come, and there was much to look forward to - serving his country on the front lines in the new position of the General du Vallon, but especially his upcoming wedding with Elodie, to whom he had proposed only two days before.
“Oh, you, women…” Aramis mused with a blissful expression on his face, salivating when he sniffed the enticing rabbit stew in the pot he was about to bring to the table. “I swear you can create God’s miracles out of nothing.”
Elodie chuckled. “It’s not so difficult with supplies from the Royal larder,” she noted, amused.
Aramis looked at her and grinned. “Anytime you wish to thank me,” he remarked with satisfaction.
“Don’t get too cocky, monsieur,” Constance said. “We will need a new cook and someone to help them as well. I won’t manage cooking on top of my usual duties once we have a full garrison again.”
Aramis put his arm around her shoulders with the charm he was so famous for.
“My dear Madame, where is your sense for… adventure?”
That earned him an annoyed stare and a playful poke in the ribs, making everyone chuckle.
The mood finally shifted. Cheerfulness slowly returned to the tavern, not the least because all of the injured musketeers and cadets were on the mend, almost ready to return to their duties. Much had been lost, but life had to go on, and nobody would want it any other way.
Aramis started sniffing again, although with a less excited expression this time.
“I think there is a little human around the corner,” he noted, and sure enough, Sylvie appeared in the doorway, holding a baby in her arms.
“I’ve just come to get some water. Marie-Cessette needs changing, and my water jug is empty,” she said quietly, with a smile. Her eyes were alight as she watched the girl’s contented sleeping face, blissfully unaware of her less-than-clean state.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Elodie wiped her hands on her apron and took her daughter from Sylvie’s arms, smiling. Then she left the kitchen for her room.
“Just in time, dinner’s ready,” Constance said cheerfully.
Sylvie glanced around the kitchen, then asked, “Athos is not back yet?”
“He is now,” a timber, smiling voice spoke behind her.
She turned around, and her heart skipped a beat, like whenever he appeared. Athos’s hand reached for her cheek, and his thumb gently caressed it. He kissed her temple, then looked at the table and proclaimed with his usual factual tone, “I’m starving.”
“You just missed a smelly baby,” Aramis teased, setting a large pot of stew on the table. “Shame, for it could have given you an idea about what you got yourself into.”
A collective chuckle greeted Athos as he sat down, with Sylvie by his side.
”If there’s one thing I’ve recently learned, my friend,” the Captain mused while reaching for a piece of bread, “it’s letting some things simply take me like a leaf floating on a river.” He looked at the beloved face by his side. “It’s time to live again, no matter what awaits us around the corner.”
Sylvie’s dark, warm gaze met his smiling eyes. As always, the silent understanding between them was instant and as natural as breathing.
”Amen,” Aramis said, immensely enjoying the sight before him. Seeing his dear friend happy and at peace with himself after so many years of grief and loneliness warmed his kind heart. His smile faded by a fraction when his heart suddenly carried him away from the garrison into the palace. He shook off the momentary turmoil in his mind and grabbed his spoon.
“Any sign of my husband?” Constance asked when they were all ready to enjoy the stew, including Brujon, who had just joined them.
”He accompanied the Queen’s guards to the palace after we finished for the day,” Athos replied. His voice suddenly lost the light-hearted tone. “I asked him to deliver a letter for me. He’ll be here soon.”
”What letter? To whom?” Porthos asked casually, fishing out a generous piece of rabbit meat from his stew.
Athos looked at him, then around the table. Sylvie covered his hand and squeezed it. She nodded. Athos sighed, then spoke into his plate.
”To the Queen. It’s a formal confirmation of what I spoke to her about after we finished Grimaud,” he replied.
The sound of dinner in full swing suddenly died as the eyes around the table lifted to his face, an uneasy feeling of premonition hanging in the air.
”What are you talking about?” Porthos inquired, confused.
The Captain’s eyes met Aramis’s look, mirroring a sad realisation.
“I have been thinking about it for some time, and now is finally the right time.” He paused, his eyes wandering around the table before settling on Porthos again. “Sylvie and I are starting a new life together… somewhere more quiet… and safer.” He glanced at Sylvie’s tummy at the last word.
A thudding sound cut through the silence between them when Brujon dropped his spoon in shock.
”You’re leaving Paris?” the cadet asked gently, as always, but unable to hide the dismay on his face.
Constance’s eyes started burning, catching her by surprise. Aramis leaned back against his chair, smiling knowingly.
”When I came to the garrison many years ago, I didn’t think about my future life,” Athos spoke softly. “I didn’t know what fate had in store for me or how long I would live, and I didn’t care. I was disillusioned and hurt, so I became a musketeer, and my life was filled with duty to justice, to my King and my country. I found so much here over the years…” He smiled as his deep blue eyes wandered around the table. “A purpose, friendships that will last for a lifetime, a sense of family… perhaps the only real one I’ve known until then. But my life was my own, and I thought it would always remain that way.”
He looked at Sylvie, his look softening and twinkling in the candlelight, projecting so much more than he was able to put into words. “But it’s not my own anymore, and I would never want it any other way.”
He smiled at Brujon. “When life offers you a second chance, you can’t waste it. In my heart, I will always be a musketeer, but I have a duty to someone else now, too. Truth be told, I also feel… tired.” Athos noticed Porthos’s eyebrows going up and chuckled. “I know, soon I will be even more tired, but that’s different. All the years of trying to run away from my past and spending most of my days either on a horse, in a battle or with a bottle have caught up with me. I am not the man I used to be.” He smiled at Sylvie again. “I will always be flawed, but I believe I am a better man. And for the first time in a very long time, I am…” He exhaled, smiling incredulously. “Happy. I want to build a home for my family and make them happy too. I cannot be torn between my country and those I love, at least not now. That’s why I have to leave.”
The absolute silence in the kitchen was interrupted only by the cheerful chatting and the sound of eating from the next room.
”Who will take your place as Captain?” Porthos asked pragmatically, his thick eyebrows knitted.
Athos smiled but didn’t reply.
”I think it’s quite obvious, don’t you?” Aramis looked at Constance with a twinkle in his eyes. Porthos understood immediately, and the corners of his mouth turned upward.
Realisation suddenly hit Constance, her face an image of incredulity but also pride, as all eyes rested on her. “Does he know yet?” she asked.
”He will find out at the right time,” Athos replied, and his look was marked by a strange sadness.
It took a few moments of silence for the friends to absorb the new information. They continued with their dinner, although not with the same enjoyment, each consumed by their own thoughts and memories.
”When will you go?” Porthos asked eventually.
Athos sighed before answering. “After your wedding. We should have everything sorted by then.”
The mood around the table changed yet again, shifting from cheerful to subdued. First, Porthos was about to return to the front as a new General, and now the Captain, the driving force and the man everyone looked up to was about to leave the garrison, as well. The tide was changing, and although many things would go on as before, it would be, in many ways, a new beginning for everyone.
The front door of the tavern suddenly opened, and a moment later, d’Artagnan finally walked into the kitchen, looking worn out but happy to see the faces of those he loved the most. Constance stood up, only half-consciously registering her husband’s kiss before moving away from the table and aimlessly starting to polish some cutlery.
”I hope you left me at least some scraps, Porthos. I’m starving,” he remarked cheekily, then turned to Athos. “The Queen thanks you for the letter and asked me to remind you not to forget about the last order she gave you.” He knitted his brows, suddenly having a strange feeling about those words. “She obviously meant the last one she gave you before you had left the palace the last time, whatever that was.”
Athos smiled, releasing a sigh at the same time. “Thank you,” he said softly and nodded. Something in his look made the smile on d’Artagnan face fade a little.
“I’d better take something to Elodie,” Porthos said, above all else realising the air was tingling with the news still kept in secret from the youngest musketeer. He filled Elodie’s plate with some stew and bread. Then he rose from his chair, the plate in his hand.
“Eat. I had mercy on you, but only just.” He patted the Gascon on his shoulder before glancing once more at the Captain and leaving the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Athos looked up from his now-empty plate and rose from his chair, as well.
“I’m tired,” he remarked truthfully, his eyelids already growing heavy. “Get some sleep as well, you’ll need it,” he said to Aramis and d’Artagnan, who sat down at his plate meanwhile.
He turned to Brujon, who was absently moving his spoon around the barely touched stew.
”You too, Brujon. That’s an order.”
The cadet lifted his head, and their eyes met. Athos smiled warmly, seeing Brujon’s shock, mingled with sadness, still filling his gaze.
”Yes, sir,” came the barely audible reply from the cadet.
Athos turned to Sylvie; she had already stood up and accepted the hand he offered her. “Thank you, Constance,” the Captain said quietly, rewarding Madame d’Artagnan with a knowing look and a smile.
The young woman, always ready for a quick and clever reply, found herself at a sudden loss for words. Therefore, she just nodded, managing a smile and a long look at both her friends, before they walked hand-in-hand out of the kitchen.
“Well, I guess we’d better finish this delicious meal given to us by God’s grace,” Aramis broke the silence cheerfully, eyeing the big pot already. “After all, we never know what He will put into our path tomorrow.”
Brujon stood up, politely thanked Constance for the dinner and left. Constance was still at her work, with her back to the table. Aramis seemed to enjoy his meal and didn’t say anything more.
The spoon in d’Artagnan’s hand was on its way to his mouth when he stopped it, trying to figure out why there was something strange hanging in the air. However, when Constance finally returned to her chair and started chattering about the day gone by, he dismissed the thought and decided his friends were just tired and needed rest to replenish their energy.
After all, just as Rome wasn’t built in a day, the Parisian garrison would need some time to rise from its ashes again, as well.
※※※※※
Chapter 9
The fire in the hearth was gently burning away, its pleasant warmth reaching Aramis as he sat in his chair nearby. The musketeer’s eyes reflected the dancing flames, but his mind was drowning in memories.
Of all the people, Aramis knew very well what the need to follow one’s heart and the inevitability of change meant. And yet he couldn’t suppress the melancholy suddenly invading his heart. The time when the Inseparables would, at least partially, separate was nearing with every day, and he suddenly found himself at a crossroads. Most of his dearest memories were shared with his three closest friends, the musketeers whose names became synonymous with legends in the garrison. In Athos, Porthos and d’Artagnan, he found a real family, knowing they always had his back, and ever since he had abandoned his plan to become a monk, he hadn't thought that one day, their journeys would have to part in some way. In his mind, he returned to his conversation with Athos a few days ago, after the Queen offered him the post of the First Minister…
※
“Perhaps I’ll remain a musketeer,” Aramis pondered, uncertainty flickering over his face.
”You’ll always be a musketeer, Aramis,” Athos replied and walked to sit down next to his friend in what not long ago was Minister Treville’s office. “But if you accept the Queen’s offer, you’ll watch over your son all days of your life.”
Aramis glanced toward the open door, then back at his friend. “As his Minister, not his father.” The frustration was palpable in his quiet voice.
Athos took a moment before speaking again.
”Treville… guided each of us as men. Musketeers?” He shook his head. “As men. Do you remember him as nothing more than your Captain or your Minister?” His knowing smile reached his eyes.
Aramis stared ahead, his friend’s words suddenly hitting him. He didn’t reply, yet the clouds hovering about his indecisive mind started parting…
※
A careful knock on the doorframe brought him back to the present, and his head turned.
“I thought you’d still be up,” Athos remarked, letting himself into his friend’s room and pulling a chair to the fire for himself.
Aramis smiled and took a moment to find the right words.
“You are doing the right thing,” he said then. “There will never be a better time for you to start again. You helped to restore some order in Paris, you have found the right woman and peace with yourself, you are to become a father…” He sighed. “It is the right thing to do.”
Athos smiled, his eyes watching the dancing flames.
“I knew you would understand,” he said. “At least I hoped so.”
Aramis nodded, smiling. “You understood why I had to become a monk back then, at least try to become one. You allowed me to take time, to find out what it really meant and eventually, whether it was meant for me or not. Without it, I would probably never have known for sure what I really wanted in my heart.”
“Your heart has always led you on the right path.” His eyebrows went slightly up, the corners of his mouth going upwards slightly. “Even if it was a bit unconventional path sometimes.”
Aramis grinned. “What can I say? I am a romantic and an adventurer.”
Both friends chuckled. The next few minutes were filled with wine and companionable silence. Aramis stood up and poked the logs in the heart.
“You shall be missed,” Aramis spoke with honesty.
“Don’t worry.” Athos smiled. “We will not be far enough for you not to annoy us with your visits,” he added, eliciting another chuckle from his friend.
“Have you decided about the Queen’s offer yet?” Athos asked, his eyes inquisitively watching the musketeer’s face.
Aramis sank back into his chair and exhaled. He looked at his friend, and a wide smile grew slowly on his face. “I have,” he answered enigmatically.
Athos took only a brief moment before his mouth curled as well.
“Good,” he said, then stared into his glass before adding more. “For what it’s worth… I shall miss you, too.”
Their eyes met; the years of their shared adventures, joys and sorrows passed in them like a painted veil. They raised their glasses at the same time.
“To the good times,” Aramis toasted. “Those in our memories and those yet to come.”
Athos smiled, letting their glasses clink.
“To the good times.”
※※※
The wedding of General du Vallon was no grand occasion that bright winter’s day, just as the bride and groom preferred it. The whole company, apart from the two leads, counted the vicar, Athos and Sylvie, Aramis, d’Artagnan and Constance, Brujon and a handful of other musketeers. This time, the bride was brought before the altar by Aramis, beaming at the honour of doing this service to his dear friend.
“Porthos thought that since you’ve already done the job for Constance and me, he would ask the man of God himself to bring his betrothed to him,” d’Artagnan whispered to the Captain as they stood a bit further behind their friend, watching with heartfelt smiles.
“Now you give yourself to each other in marriage… In love and honour, as man and wife for the rest of your lives,” the vicar spoke with grandeur, meanwhile.
“For once, he was right,” Athos whispered back dryly to d’Artagnan. “I already felt old bringing your bride to you in place of her father.”
D’Artagnan couldn’t suppress a snort, earning raised eyebrows from Constance, standing with Sylvie on the bride’s side.
The Captain’s smile slowly faded. Listening to the vicar’s words, something within him moved. He looked at the woman standing behind Elodie, and a sudden, unexpectedly strong feeling of longing caused melancholy to creep into his blue eyes. It hit him like a mighty storm, gripping his heart, and, as he realised immediately, wouldn’t let him go again. At that moment, he wished he had the power to erase his sad past and be free to do anything his heart desired.
If only…
He sighed quietly, taking in Sylvie’s glowing face as she happily watched the bride and groom making their vows.
”Do you, Porthos, take Elodie to be your wife?” asked the vicar, with the assurance of someone who had done it a hundred times before.
”I do,” Porthos replied, grinning at the pretty face by his side.
”Do you, Elodie, take Porthos to be your husband?” the vicar continued.
”I do.” The bride didn’t hesitate either, confirming her vow with pride and joy.
”I now pronounce you man and wife. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
The vicar added more words appropriate for the cheerful occasion, but Athos barely listened. Sylvie’s eyes finally met his gaze, seeing the trace of sadness and deep longing in it. Understanding - and feeling the same - she smiled warmly, casting the minor shadow from Athos’s face away, turning the corners of his mouth upward again.
“You’re next in line,” d’Artagnan whispered to Athos again, with a wink and turned to the bride and groom, giving each a heartfelt hug.
The Captain froze for a moment but quickly regained his equilibrium and congratulated the newlyweds, as well. He understood very well what his friend meant, and it brought a trace of melancholy back into his mind. If only things were as simple and straightforward as d’Artagnan saw them…
The wedding lunch was a cheerful affair. Porthos finally allowed himself more wine than in the past several months, but no one minded, especially when the General started sharing amusing stories of the Inseparables on various occasions throughout the years. The sound of Porthos’s thunderous laughter was refreshing and lightened the hearts of everyone present. Even when Elodie gently but firmly took the third bottle from her new husband’s hands – judging that even a General needs to know his limits - and put it further away from him, the mood didn’t turn sombre, quite the contrary.
“I’m not drunk,” Porthos claimed, and true to his statement, his speech wasn’t slurred at all.
“Not yet, but you would be soon,” Elodie said dryly, but with a little smirk. “And I don’t wish to spend our first married night next to a snoring giant.”
The remark amused the friends around the table.
“You may be a General, my friend, but your wife can knock you off your horse any time, I’d bet,” Aramis teased. “Also, don’t forget you need some energy for more pleasant, marital duties tonight,” he added with a cheek.
Porthos straightened up in his chair; sudden realisation brought his self-control back. He looked at Elodie, seeing her calm but amused expression.
“We shall see about that horse,” he said with a challenging look and a smirk.
After more laughter, when Brujon spat his wine after the General’s words, Porthos kissed Elodie’s forehead and smiling, he stood up from his chair, casting a soft glance at Marie-Cessette, happily sleeping in a make-shift cot nearby.
“I need some fresh air,” he said, stretching his arms. Then he looked at Athos. “I think you do too, Captain.”
Athos met his eyes, and a moment later, he understood the hint.
“I do,” he agreed. “I don’t think so much wine goes well with me anymore.”
He smiled at Sylvie, released her hand and stood up to join Porthos outside the tavern.
“Man up, Brujon,” Constance concluded the topic of the conversation in her typical, motherly manner. “Once you finally start chasing after girls, a horse will be the last of your problems.”
Brujon did man up, although his “Yes, Madame,” sounded less convincing than he would have liked.
Outside the tavern, Athos and Porthos leaned against the wall and watched the busy street life passing by. The Captain took a pipe from a pouch attached to his belt. He seldom used it but liked keeping it on him. He lit it and after taking the first pull, he exhaled loudly and leaned his head back.
“That thing,” Porthos reacted. “I’ll never understand what’s so special about it.” He shook his head.
Athos smiled. “That’s because you have never tried it.”
“Thanks, I’d rather stick to my wine,” his friend rejected the indirect offer.
They watched the street in silence for a while before Porthos spoke first.
“That time in Alcase… It was probably the only time in my life when I was almost certain that it would be the end of me. It was a lucky escape.”
“You did fine, as always,” Athos remarked calmly, pulling on his pipe.
“Only because you were there to get me out.”
The Captain, still looking at the street ahead, sighed absently. “It was teamwork with d’Artagnan and the other musketeers.”
Porthos looked at his friend of many years.
“I know, but you led them. It was your lead that pulled us through even the worst of times.” He lowered his eyes briefly. “I never told you, but once, after a terrifying battle, I tried to run off.”
Athos lowered his pipe, his attention fully on the General now, yet he still wasn’t looking at him.
“I felt real fear that day… Seeing our friends being slaughtered left, right and centre, all the blood and terror… All I wanted was to run away from that place as far as possible and never stop.”
Athos finally spoke, as calmly as before. “Even the most courageous warrior falters sometimes in the face of the atrocities of war.”
Porthos smiled. “That’s exactly the point,” he said. “I rode my horse for about five miles and then I thought of you, d’Artagnan, of everyone still alive and fighting there. And I knew that you would never leave your friends behind. You would fight for the last man in your battalion to the last breath.” He looked at the Captain’s face. “You made me come back and keep fighting. And you always will, no matter where you are.”
Athos finally turned his head to meet his friend’s dark eyes. The corners of his mouth turned slowly upward, his look softening for a brief moment.
“Careful, my friend, you are getting softer,” he remarked then with an amused smile.
“Not more than you. I heard fatherhood does that to some men,” Porthos teased.
The two friends chuckled. Athos’s smile faded soon after, though.
“You’re not the only one who wished to desert at some point. I was frightened, too… terrified even. Do you know what made me stay, whatever was going on?” He raised his eyebrows, looking into Porthos’s eyes. “The thought of you… and d’Artagnan, and the rest of our men. And Aramis, too. I wanted our men to finally sleep in a warm and dry bed and enjoy a proper meal again. I wanted d’Artagnan to take Constance into his arms again. I wanted to hug Aramis again and see him realise he wasn’t meant to spend the rest of his life in a cassock. I wanted you to find someone to give you something that sword and pistol cannot… ”
His hand landed on the General’s shoulder. “No man is born fearless and brave. It is those who we fight for that make us so.”
The laughter of a group of children running by cut into the silence between them, and made them both smile. Porthos mirrored the Captain’s gesture, squeezing his shoulder.
“For a couple of lost buggers, we turned out quite all right, didn’t we?” He grinned, making his friend chuckle.
“We did indeed.”
They dropped their hands. Porthos had one more important thing to say.
“I’m glad you found that someone, too. She is a good woman.”
Athos glanced at him again and smiled. “I hope you told her, too.”
“Of course,” Porthos chuckled. “She called me a grumpy oaf for taking such a long time to get that into my head.”
Athos snorted. Well done, Sylvie.
He replaced his pipe into the pouch on his belt again and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders, leading him back into the tavern.
“I’d say you better get back to your wife before she reconsiders having chosen this General for husband.”
Porthos knitted his brows in pretended shock. “As if any woman could ever do that.”
The Captain’s amused smile didn’t vanish from his face until they closed the tavern door behind them.
※※※※※
Chapter 10
The horses were a bit more restless that day, as if sensing the upcoming change in the air.
“Easy, boy!” Brujon tried to calm the full-bloodied, ebony-black stallion tied at its post at the improvised stables at the tavern. The garrison was still in ruins and not safe for the horses that were rescued from the devastating fire. The animal kept nudging the young man’s shoulder while he was brushing it.
“You’ll get to ride out soon again,” the cadet said to the majestic stallion, gently stroking its nuzzle.
“He does that only to the people he likes,” a calm, timbre voice spoke behind him.
Brujon smiled before turning around to look at his commander.
“I like him too, sir,” he replied a bit shyly before adding, “He’s a fine horse.”
Athos walked to stroke his animal friend on his neck, his hands gliding along the horse’s long raven-black mane. A tender smile settled on his face as he fondly regarded his majestic but at the same time gentle companion.
“He has been a dear and loyal friend to me for years,” he said. “Through Heaven and Hell, he never failed in bringing me home safe and sound… Horses are not unlike us, Brujon; they feel everything we feel, too, joy, love, pain, grief… But they never give up, neither on themselves nor us.”
The cadet smiled again, then studied the animal’s playful ministrations, showing affection to his beloved master, who chuckled and offered an apple in return. The horse eagerly crunched it to the last bite.
The brief silence between them gave Brujon time to think about his next words.
“Paris is safer thanks to you. You defeated your last, greatest enemy.”
Athos regarded the cadet earnestly, his bright blue eyes reflecting the wisdom of his experiences.
“Grimaud was my nightmare, but he was neither my last nor my greatest enemy,” he stated, confusing his companion mildly. “There is a greater one – the fear of the unknown.” He smiled knowingly. “That is an enemy we all have to conquer within ourselves.”
The cadet returned his smile, appreciating one more lesson from his mentor. The constant learning path was one of the things he admired about his commander the most. He sighed and patted the horse again.
“I shall miss him,” he remarked, then looked at the musketeer. “And you, Captain.”
Athos raised his eyebrows. “I am not your Captain anymore,” he corrected the young man. It was the day his duties were officially passed on to d’Artagnan – who was yet to be informed about it.
Brujon’s face was the image of absolute honesty when he spoke.
“You will always be my Captain.”
For a moment, Athos was lost for words. Looking at the boy he watched grow into a man, he was genuinely touched… and proud, as much as a mentor can be proud of his student. Considering his impact on d’Artagnan, he realised he wasn’t a bad teacher after all. He nodded and rewarded Brujon with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” he managed to utter at last, feeling a strange lump in his throat.
“Thank you, sir, for everything.”
Athos sighed, his eyes lingering on the cadet a moment longer, before he chuckled. He patted his horse one last time before turning to Brujon again.
“Come,” he said, “they’ll be waiting.”
※
They were all standing in the centre of what was once the garrison yard, now reduced to a large field of ashes and burnt beams, surrounded by the somehow still-standing, albeit greatly damaged garrison building – Athos and Sylvie, Aramis, d’Artagnan and Constance, the newly-wed Porthos and Elodie. Brujon stood at a discreet distance, tending to his white horse.
“I think you like being Madame du Vallon,” Porthos teased his wife, who was dressed in her cream wedding dress for the second day in a row.
Elodie eyed her husband and replied dryly, although with a smirk. “For a change, I like feeling like a woman again instead of shovelling dirt, building huts and shooting thieves.”
“Or,” Aramis intervened, with a cheeky gleam in his eyes, “the wedding night was so good that Elodie wanted to prolong the experience.”
Pothos grinned and looked at his comrade with pride. “I’m not a General for nothing.”
The friends laughed, enjoying the casual banter, but at the same time, sensing the upcoming inevitable change of the tides.
“I can’t believe you’re already leaving,” Constance remarked, with a sigh. “You’ve only just got married!”
“I doubt her Majesty would grant her new General a honeymoon leave in the middle of the war,” d’Artagnan replied, raising his brows sceptically.
“I know, but…”
“It’s all right,” Elodie shrugged off the feeling of melancholy. “France needs him.” She looked at Porthos and smiled. “We will be here when he returns.”
Despite a sudden pang in his heart, Porthos, clad in his elaborately decorated General uniform, felt warmth spreading in his chest, and he smiled at Elodie in return. Then he turned around, looking at the cadet.
“Brujon,” he called with a resonant voice.
The young man was immediately with him, awaiting an order.
“I’m going to the front,” Porthos said. “Prepare my horse.”
Brujon nodded and turned to fulfil the task, but the General added, “And prepare one for yourself… You’re coming too.”
The surprise and shock mingling on the cadet’s face almost made Porthos laugh, however, he maintained his dignified expression.
“I’m not a musketeer, General,” Brujon countered softly, still in disbelief.
“Aren’t you?” Constance asked, an eloquent and proud expression on her face as she passed d’Artagnan something wrapped in a cloth.
D’Artagnan approached his cadet and revealed a leather pauldron with a Fleur-de-Lys badge. The sight of it made Brujon gasp. He glanced towards the smiling group, meeting Athos’s eyes – the pride on his face made the young man’s heart leap.
“You earned that,” d’Artagnan stated plainly but all the more heartfelt. The cadet smiled, fighting back tears. He recalled all the times when he thought this moment would never come and that no matter how hard he worked, he wasn’t good enough. Athos’s recent words of encouragement gave him hope, yet only now, holding his own musketeer’s pauldron in his hands, made him truly believe that he was worthy of defending the Crown.
Porthos raised his eyebrows.
“What are you waiting for?” he teased.
Brujon chuckled, still in awe. He nodded and, with a soft “General,” rushed to prepare the horse and start a new chapter in his life.
Porthos laughed and turned back to the group, while d’Artagnan rejoined his wife in the circle. The atmosphere in the yard was suddenly thick with emotion.
“Well,” Porthos started, looking around at his friends, “this is it.”
D’Artagnan, always the most emotional of the group of four musketeers, struggled to keep a cool face; Athos became pensive… Aramis stayed true to his nature.
“You’ll be back,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Porthos approached him with a grin. “Come here,” he said and pulled him into a bear hug.
“I know you will,” Aramis added, smiling.
After they separated, Porthos looked at Athos.
“Captain,” he said, embracing his dear friend.
“General,” Athos replied. Despite Porthos’s quiet but heartfelt laughter, sadness reached his former commander’s heart. They held a long look before the General approached Sylvie, glancing at Athos before kissing her cheeks.
“Look after him,” he requested playfully, making Sylvie chuckle. After finally breaking through Porthos’s barrier of his suspicion about her, the young woman suddenly felt sorry to see him leave.
Constance greeted him with a beaming smile, accepting kisses on her cheeks, as well. The fond memories of their bickering over food and upkeep crossed both their minds.
Finally, Porthos approached d’Artagnan. The Gascon was fully prepared for a hug, but his friend stopped him. “Hold on.”
He looked deep into the musketeer’s warm, brown eyes.
“Only take the best, understand?” he ordered quietly. “Anything less and you disgrace our regiment.”
D’Artagnan nodded and welcomed Porthos’s farewell hug. All at once, he felt confused.
Porthos offered Elodie his arm, and after one final glance at the group, seeing their heartfelt smiles, they both walked out of the garrison ruins.
Athos took a few steps to stand beside Aramis, briefly holding his side – his injury would take a while to heal fully. D’Artagnan couldn’t shake off the confusion.
“What did he mean by that?” he asked. Athos turned to face him.
“You’ll be in charge of recruiting new musketeers,” Aramis informed him.
D’Artagnan chuckled. “That’s a Captain’s responsibility.”
Aramis’s only reply was a smile. Athos eloquently raised his eyebrows.
A sudden lightning of realisation hit the Gascon, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He walked toward his commander and friend of many years.
“Athos… I… I’m afraid I can’t accept,” he remarked with conviction.
“Are you refusing my last order?” Athos inquired.
“I cannot accept!” d’Artagnan breathed quietly, a hint of despair in his response.
He felt the ground shifting beneath his feet. Porthos leaving the Inseparables for war was expected after the honour bestowed upon him by the Queen. However, Athos leaving his position could mean only one thing, and d’Artagnan was not ready to deal with that…
“Athos is taking… a leave of absence,” Sylvie helped out her beloved, beaming and exchanging a joyful and eloquent glance with Constance, “to fulfil a mission of great importance,” she added knowingly.
D’Artagnan looked back at his dear friend and mentor, dissatisfied with the explanation.
“You will return?” he begged more than asked. Athos’s face was a calm enigma. “Then we’ll discuss this again.”
The former Captain’s face finally broke into a smile, reaching his eyes. “I don’t doubt it.”
That put d’Artagnan out of misery. He smiled with relief and stepped back, allowing Athos and Aramis time for a brief nod of acknowledgement.
Sylvie rejoined Athos, accepting his offered hand. Smiling, they followed Porthos and Elodie, walking out of the garrison ruins. Sylvie briefly laid her cheek against Athos’s shoulder, overcome by the joyful vision of their days to come. Athos smiled, feeling the sadness from earlier vanish. Together, they kept walking, unhurried and contented.
“Seems like we’ve got some work to do, Captain,” Constance remarked cheerfully as they watched their friends leaving.
D’Artagnan looked at his wife and snorted, still trying to grasp fully the new reality. Hand in hand, they walked inside the safe, not severely damaged part of the garrison, returning to their duties to restore the musketeers’ base to its former glory.
Aramis rested his hands on his hips, and his eyes travelled around the place that used to be his home for many happy and adventurous years. When he got up that morning, he wasn’t sure how he would feel by the end of it. Then, watching his best friends with the women they loved made him think again. Perhaps he should have felt lonely, and yet… On this early afternoon, standing now alone amidst ashes and dust, a sudden wave of enthusiasm washed over him.
He flipped his hat in his hand and put it on. And then, a huge grin brightened his face.
※※※
Queen Anne walked through the corridors of the Louvre Palace in a steady, assured pace. The events of the past few weeks should have rattled her emotional cage, but the Regent had learnt her mental strength long ago not to succumb to depression. Paris was saved, life moved on, and there was a lot to be done in the interest of France, which was still at war with Spain. The Queen would not fail her people.
Anne abruptly emerged from her thoughts as the guards opened the doors to the Council Chamber for her. Upon entering it, her eyes roamed around the long table, seeing the Council members already present in their usual places. They all stood up to greet the Regent.
“Please, accept my apologies for the delay…”
Words got stuck in her throat at the sight of the man standing next to her chair – Aramis… wearing the ministerial uniform. The hands of time seemed to have stopped as Anne tried to recover her breath. After the initial shock, she couldn’t help but notice how cerulean-blue became him.
“Majesty.” Aramis nodded, with respect, cautiously, but noticeably happy in his new position.
“Minister,” the Queen found her words, sounding steady again. Her heart was beating like a drum, though, and she had to force herself not to show too much enthusiasm.
She took her seat, and the council members followed suit. Glancing at the man on her right-hand side, a ghost of a smile appeared between the Queen and her First Minister.
You are not alone…
And then, Anne took a deep breath, regained her informal facial expression and addressed the council.
“We have a few pressing matters to attend to,” she started. “Shall we begin then?”
Aramis’s eyes shone brightly, with pride and respect, but above all… with love. He tried hard to focus on the matters at hand. However, before he got fully immersed in the political discussion, he couldn’t help thinking that being the First Minister might have been a better idea than he had thought at first.
※※※
The day was bright and the air crisp when Athos and Sylvie were getting ready for their departure from Paris. They needed only a few days to gather the most necessary things they would take with them, including a couple of warm dresses for Sylvie, which she lacked before. She didn’t ask for them, and there were times when she would have surely refused any gift like that from Athos, but now she accepted them gratefully, knowing and appreciating his care for her and their unborn child. Although Athos never had a particular interest in fashion, he caught himself admiring his beloved in her new burgundy and white, beautifully embroidered dress and a thick cloak of the same shade of red, while she was busy attaching the last bag to the saddle of her horse. A brief wave of emotion washed over him, like many times in the previous few days.
“That was the last one,” Sylvie stated with a satisfied sigh. “I think we are ready.”
Athos turned suddenly pensive, regarding her quietly.
”Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked, sounding a bit worried.
Sylvie raised her eyebrows, amused.
”It’s a bit late to ask this, don’t you think? Although you have asked before.”
Seeing his hesitation, she chuckled. Her hand softly landed on his chest, and a renewed feeling of warmth spread around Athos’s heart. ”The whole Spanish Army couldn’t convince me to change my mind,” Sylvie added earnestly, then smiled.
Relieved, Athos sighed. Tenderness shone from his eyes as he leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss on her lips. Only the arrival of Constance and d’Artagnan, who had just walked out of the tavern, made them pull apart.
“By all means, let us not disturb you,” d’Artagnan teased, making Sylvie chuckle. He grinned, remembering catching them in a similar situation for the first time.
Athos allowed himself a small smile; his years-long habit of keeping his emotions to himself meant that any public display of his affection toward Sylvie still felt surprising to him. Luckily, in a good way - he found himself enjoying it.
”Aramis had to go to the Palace,” d’Artagnan explained.
”I know,” Athos acknowledged. “We parted before he left for the Louvre.”
Constace passed a little white linen bundle to the mother-to-be.
”We wanted to give you something,” she said, suddenly feeling a little emotional, “for the baby… It’s not much, but we thought it was appropriate.”
Sylvie unveiled a simple white infant gown with beautifully embroidered Fleur-de-Lys on the chest.
”Constance…” she gasped, her fingers slowly gliding over the famous symbol.
Athos admired the little dress in Sylvie’s hands for a moment, his smile growing. He had always been more a man of action than of words, and so, true to his nature, he took a step forward and put his arms around Constance. He had known her even longer than her own husband, but their mutual fondness and respect grew even more over the years.
”I guess he likes it,” she remarked with a cheek and patted him on the back. When they pulled back, Sylvie embraced her friend as well, not only out of gratitude.
”Take care of yourself,” Constance reminded her. “And him,” she added, glancing at Athos.
Sylvie chuckled. “Don’t worry, I will.”
“And you,” Madame d’Artagnan poked Athos in his chest, raising her eyebrows. “Stay out of trouble.”
The humour, mingled with the unhidden fondness reflecting in her glistening eyes, made his smile grow wider.
“Tell that to her,” he nodded toward Sylvie, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
”I’ll see you off out of the city,” d’Artagnan stated and walked over to his horse, standing at his post nearby. His tone left no room for contradiction. Athos helped Sylvie onto her horse, then mounted his stallion. Both exchanged one last look with Madame d’Artagnan.
”And send word as soon as you settle down,” she reminded their friends as they turned to leave.
The clanking of the horse-hooves filled her ears, then slowly faded when the group vanished behind the first bend. Constance stood in her spot for a while, many memories flashing in her mind. Suddenly, she noticed some commotion on the street outside. She walked outside the garrison to see what the fuss was about.
It seemed that a group of people encircled someone undesirable who did something they shouldn’t have. Constance stepped closer.
“What’s going on here?” she asked an elderly woman watching with unmasked interest nearby.
“Some young rascal,” the woman explained. “He stole an apple from the old Duval’s stall.”
Constance raised her eyebrows. “From the market?”
She knew the marketplace was a few blocks away. The boy must have run a good distance before he was caught. For a moment, she contemplated why anyone would be so angry about a boy stealing an apple in these times marked by a lack of food everywhere. Then she saw him: he was barely seventeen, tall and thin, with thick and messy dark hair and mischievous but intelligent dark eyes on a handsome face, with sharply chiselled cheekbones; not a boy but not yet a man. She saw him because he jumped up on one of the crates put up against the wall of a house. The angry mob watched him with flashing eyes, ready to attack him at any moment.
“Yes,” the woman confirmed. “A few men ran after him. He almost outran them, were it not for a carriage that crossed his path just here a minute ago.”
Something unexpected happened right after, interrupting their conversation. With a cheeky glee in his dark eyes, the boy bit into the apple in his hand, and holding it with his mouth, he grabbed a broom leaning very conveniently against the wall right next to him. It took him mere moments to disarm the men surrounding him – with incredible skill, as Constance couldn’t miss – and fight his way out of the dire situation. In the blink of an eye, the thief escaped into freedom!
Constance watched the scene unfold with unmasked interest, and she had to admit, the boy had impressive defence skills. A sudden spark of an idea made the corners of her mouth turn upwards.
“Well, I never…!” the woman by her side exclaimed in disbelief.
“He has skill…” Constance pondered out loud, her eyes looking in the direction she saw the young offender run.
“He’s a thief!”
“Maybe he just needs someone to show him the right way,” Constance concluded, with a knowing smile, thinking but not adding …to the garrison.
The woman responded to her words with some more discontented comments, but Madame d’Artagnan didn’t listen. Her feet carried her quickly in the direction her eyes never left. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought, especially not when they found someone as quick as lightning, as clever as a fox and as deft as the cheeky mischief-maker that just outwitted about twenty men. It was true that not all thieves were born evil, and Constance couldn’t wait to put her recruiting skills to the test. The smile on her face turned into a grin when she changed her pace and started running.
After all, there was nothing Madame d’Artagnan liked more than a challenge.
※
Athos, Sylvie and d’Artagnan were making their way through the familiar streets of Paris, unhurried and unburdened. For years, the City had been their home, despite neither of them having been born in it. Through its glorious but also darkest times, Paris gave them shelter, lifelong friendships and love.
They had long passed the City centre and the suburbs, where they all dismounted their horses and continued on foot.
”It should be an interesting time ahead,” d’Artagnan remarked, leading his stallion next to him. “It won’t be easy to recruit so many good cadets at once.”
Athos pondered for a moment before replying. “It has never been easy, regardless of how many cadets you need to recruit. You are not recruiting only men good with sword and pistol; you need men who stand their ground, honest men who are loyal to death, men you can always rely on.” He paused. “Nevertheless, you will get there; I have no doubts.”
D’Artagnan smiled, chuffed by his friend’s compliment. “If you say so, I must,” he replied, glancing at his former Captain, who, he still hoped, would be the Captain once more one day.
Athos returned the glance with a quiet smile. Then he suddenly came to a halt, stopping his horse as well. Sylvie and d’Artagnan followed suit. Turning around, they saw they were standing on top of a slightly ascending hill outside of Paris, having the whole great city at their fingertips. Together with the green meadows on either side of them, divided by the road they came along, and the grey-blue sky above them, all of it created a beautiful and somehow majestic image – an image of the past but also of the future, still unknown and unpredictable, nevertheless, exciting as well.
“Well, then…” d’Artagnan started, suddenly unable to find words.
“Take care of yourself and Constance,” Sylvie said and walked into his open arms to share a heartfelt hug with the musketeer she had become very fond of.
“I will, but you do the same,” he replied, raising his eyebrows and glancing at her still invisible tummy. “And don’t be too harsh on him when he starts sulking or gets stubborn about something, you know,” he added with a cheek.
“When had he ever done that?” Sylvie teased, raising her brows at Athos. The man just smiled, lowering his eyes.
D’Artagnan chuckled, then released Sylvie’s hands and stepped over to his best friend and mentor. Once again, his tongue was tied.
Thinking about that moment later, the Gascon couldn’t remember when or if ever he had hugged Athos – his respect for the former Captain of the Musketeers mostly stopped him from ever doing so, and a handshake or a pat on the shoulder would have to do - but if there was anything that could have spoken about what the man he was looking at meant to him, his next action did so. Wordless yet enthusiastically, his arms went around Athos as if they were to do it for the last time.
Athos welcomed the embrace more than gladly, tightening it with his own arms and smiling into his friend’s shoulder. Something paternal moved in him; maybe it was the upcoming parenthood, but most likely the memories of the many years spent by d’Artagnan’s loyal and understanding side that caused the warm stir in him. All the emotions within him mingled together, making his smile widen – great gratitude, brotherly love and fatherly pride above all. His first encounter with the young and back then very feisty Gascon emerged in his mind, carefully stored there as one of his most precious memories. Neither of them could have known back then what a deep, strong, loyal and heartfelt bond of friendship they would develop soon after. The teacher and the student became comrades and the best of friends. They had come full circle, one that would be preserved and cherished but never broken. At that moment, both knew that wherever their paths were to lead, they would always find a way back to each other.
The men finally parted, and yet still haven’t said a word. They regarded each other fondly for a long moment before d’Artagnan finally found his vocabulary again.
“You will return,” he stated, not asking at all now, but needing a mental reinsurance of his friend’s words earlier.
Athos’s lips curled into a warm smile. “I always keep my word.”
That was everything the Gascon needed. He exhaled loudly, the relief obvious on his smiling face. In a final gesture of their parting, he outstretched his hand toward Athos, who accepted it with a firm grip.
D’Artagnan released his hand at last and walked back to mount his horse. His eyes wandered toward his friends again, stopping at Athos.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he said with a knowing smile. He nodded and prodded his horse into a run. Not even a minute later, his figure disappeared from view, vanishing behind the City gates again, ready to fully assume his Captain’s duties.
Athos and Sylvie watched him ride away, wordlessly, but with full hearts. After the rider vanished out of sight, Sylvie was the first to speak.
“He will miss you,” she said gently.
“And I will miss him,” Athos replied truthfully, touched by her words, as well as his own admission.
“You’ll see each other again,” she added with conviction.
Since his only reply was a smile, Sylvie continued more cheerfully by stating the obvious.
“Well, you saved Paris.”
Her words and beaming smile of pride painted a warm smile on Athos’s face as well. He looked at her, and the love toward the woman by his side, that filled his heart, shone brightly once again as her words renewedly ignited the warm fire of contentment and happiness within him. He didn’t reply, just watched her turn her horse back in the direction leading away from the City, then briefly looked back at Paris, as if wanting to engrave its image into his mind more strongly. It held so many memories for him, both good and bad, moments that shaped him as a man and shaped his future.
He turned around to follow her, ready to face a new chapter in his life.
“What lies ahead of us, I wonder,” Sylvie pondered as they slowly walked side by side.
“Really doesn’t matter,” Athos replied knowingly.
The surprise almost stopped her. “Doesn’t matter?” she repeated incredulously, with an amused smile.
Athos chuckled inwardly, fond of her ever-pragmatic side.
“Not if we face every challenge the way we always have…,” he started, “with great passion; hearts that stay true to all they hold dear. Courage, no matter how many enemies lie in wait for us… Faith that daylight will always follow the dark.” A trace of melancholy settled on his features.
“And love?” Sylvie asked knowingly, turning her head to see his face.
Athos stopped and met her dark eyes, realising that one word was what characterised her the most – the love for her country and its people, the love of justice, the love of life, her love for him… Yes, they were truly equal, for love was what they both stood for with every fibre of their being.
He chuckled, feeling blessed and incredibly grateful that fate allowed him to cross paths with this amazing woman who chased the shadows of his painful past life away. His lips curled into a beaming smile, reaching his eyes, which were bright and full of that very emotion she had just named. He remembered the first time they met, the first time Sylvie kissed him, the first time he realised he was utterly and hopelessly in love with her, not addicted and blinded but in pure, deep love that filled every, even the smallest crevice of his broken heart… Athos could barely contain the joy vibrating in every fibre of his body. His hand travelled into the cascade of her dark, curly hair, gently cradling her skull.
“Above all else,” he replied, his loving gaze meeting hers and speaking volumes of the universal truth, much deeper than anything else.
And then his lips met hers, this time assuredly and playfully, making her smile into the kiss.
This… this is the life I want… with you… with our child... forever…
They pulled apart and playfully nuzzled their noses before Sylvie, still beaming, stepped back, focused on the road ahead of them and started walking again, guiding her horse along by the reins. Athos’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he followed her suit and made his first real step into their future together.
Despite the war still raging between France and Spain, the world was still a vast and beautifully painted canvas full of surprises, asking them to accept its invitation, and Athos and Sylvie welcomed it with open arms. Their new life had only begun…
※※※※※
which are worn out in ploughing the waves, in obeying the wind which urges them towards an end,
as the breath of God blows us towards a port.
Everything likes to live... and everything is beautiful in living things."
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