Chapter Text
Constance
She woke up, drawn into vague consciousness by the wind howling outside the window. She shivered, and reached for the blanket. It was only then that she realized it was wrapped around someone else.
Was it d’Artagnan? If yes, she would feel free to steal the blanket back. However, if it was one of her wounded brothers, such an action would be barbaric.
Great… so I am not sure who is sharing my bed. My husband would not be amused.
She opened her eyes, and saw d’Artagnan. He was sound asleep. She leaned towards him, pressing her lips to his in a quick kiss. The musketeer surprised her by wrapping his arms around her. An instant later, their lips met again in a deep, passionate kiss. It was then that she remembered that they had taken a room for themselves. It was a bold move to share not only a bed, but also a private room, with her lover.
Her lover… She shivered under his touch. It felt sinfully good to share a morning together..to savor their love for once. Usually, their time together was always rushed, as they were always conscious of the possibility of getting caught.
We’re sharing a bed and a bedroom… Like a real couple…
Much later, Constance slipped out of the room, leaving d’Artagnan asleep. She wanted to get a head start on preparing breakfast, especially as she knew that Philippe and Noiret wanted to leave early in the morning. The two musketeers had a long journey ahead of them before they reached Paris. They planned to bypass Fontainebleau, which meant that they would have to spend a night or two in the forest or at an inn. The mere thought of spending the night outside made her shiver.
The kitchen needed a lot of work. Several months had passed since it had last been used. A thick layer of dust covered the tables and shelves. The previous day, Constance had been too tired to take care of it. She had simply made a quick fire, then heated up the stew she had taken from Fontainebleau.
Next, she checked the caves that were used for storage. In the first one, she found shelves filled with bottles of wine. Most of the names meant nothing to her, but she was certain that Athos would recognize the names of the vineyards. She saw no food, and began to worry until she entered the next cave. She sighed in relief when she spied bags of flour and groats. There were smaller bags of sugar, dried vegetables, and fruits. Dried meat was hanging from the ceiling. There were bottles of oil and vinegar, wheels of cheese, and jars brimming with honey and jam. She also found bunches of herbs and little bottles of rare spices. She had never seen such a well supplied larder. The Queen was truly generous!
Constance prepared some sourdough starter, berating herself for not having done it earlier. It would need a few days to be ready to use. Until then, she would have to make do with flatbread and pancakes. She started to make some pancakes, softly humming a tune her mother had always sang while working in the kitchen. Although her parents had never met until after the marriage negotiations between their families had been concluded, they had grown to love each other. Although young, her mother and father had both had free hearts, and had been ready to commit to their betrothed. Why had such an arrangement not worked for her? She really had tried her hardest to love Jacques...until the day d’Artagnan had rushed into her life.
Would her mother accept her betrayal? She doubted it. Her father would be undoubtedly be angry with her. It was a good that they no plans to visit her--although when she had first come to Paris, she had been bitterly disappointed by their unwillingness to travel to the city.
The door was slightly ajar, but the knock still surprised her.
Noiret came in, stopping in his tracks when he smelled the delicious aromas that already permeated the kitchen.
“Good morning, Madame, I came to see if there is any hot breakfast available.”
She smiled. “You’re in luck. I just finished making some pancakes with cheese. There’s also some warm porridge. And please call me Constance. I thought we were done being formal.”
“Yes, Constance.” He gave her an uncertain smile, and glanced around as if he were expecting d’Artagnan to suddenly appear and upbraid him for improper behaviour. She had seen the men act this way on several occasions, and it always made her smile. It was so wonderful to have someone who loved and defended her!
Philippe joined his friend, and she served them breakfast. Then she loaded a tray full of food to bring to the Musketeers who were still unwell. Philippe jumped up immediately, and insisted on carrying it for her.
She felt uneasy as she knocked on the door of the room where they were staying.
What if they had taken a turn for the worse?
She was not sure if she could bear more anxiety and grief.
She heard an answering groan, and entered the room, her heart in her throat.
Porthos slowly separated himself from Aramis, who lay sprawled on top of him.The marksman whimpered softly. Porthos turned to Constance, his eyes full of worry. He managed to summon a smile to his face, but it disappeared an instant later.
“I’m afraid he’s relapsing,” Porthos whispered. Strain was evident on his face.
“Should we fetch a doctor?” Philippe asked.
“No! Treville made it clear that he doesn’t want any outsiders here,” Athos replied firmly.
The dark skinned musketeer cast him an angry glance, and refocused his attention on his brother. As his fingers combed through the medic’s mop of hair, he bit his lip, trying to master his fear and pain.
Constance felt that she needed to do something. She approached the bed, and gently touched Aramis’ face. His skin had finally warmed. This could signify the beginnings of a fever, but she wanted to believe that it was a sign of recovery.
She checked on the wound, and saw that it was healing. However, it would leave a bad scar, one which would not be easily camouflaged by hair.
This reminded her of her own scars. In the midst of all her concern and fear for her loved ones, she had completely forgotten about the burns on her face. They did not seem to disturb D’Artagnan, but she knew her disfigurement might make it difficult for her to regain her place at court.
Obviously, the Queen would not care, but the other ladies in waiting were a different story. They were furious that a common woman had been chosen to be the Queen’s confidant. It should have been one of them - a woman of noble birth, educated in court life, and well aware of its pitfalls and traps. They had been trained from birth on how to navigate such a hostile environment with grace. Constance always felt completely out of place. Instead of swimming with the current, it seemed as if she was always fighting against it, inevitably in danger of being swept out to sea.
“Constance?” Porthos voice was full of fear.
She realized that she was still staring at Aramis’ wound. It was obvious that Porthos’ imagination had conjured up the worst possible explanation for her distraction.
“It’s healing nicely,” she said quickly. “Forgive me, Porthos--I have been having a hard time focusing my thoughts today.”
“I’m sorry Constance, I just…” he cast a despairing glance at the marksman.
The young woman tried to wake their brother. Her fingers tapped his cheeks gently, but relentlessly. He groaned, and tried to avoid her touch. Finally, she was rewarded with an irritated, slurred plea.
“L’t m’ sleep.”
Porthos cupped his face. “You need to eat something!”
Aramis lifted his eyelids slightly, and met his brother’s eyes.
“Please, eat something!” The dark skinned musketeer begged as if he were pleading for someone’s life to be spared, not for his friend to eat a few spoonfuls of stew. Perhaps there was not much of a difference in his tormented mind.
“I’m not worse, just tired…” the medic whispered, his hand covering Porthos’.
“I… are you sure?” Porthos, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, still sounded broken.
“I am.” Aramis smiled softly. He reserved this sort of smile exclusively for Porthos. It was not the flashy grin that he offered easily to his companions... nor the seductive half smile which made women swoon...not even the rare genuine smile that he showed his brothers when he was truly grateful or relieved. The softness of his expression spoke volumes about his trust in and love for his brother.
Aramis allowed Porthos to feed him, obviously hoping to relieve the big man’s fears. Then he nestled next to Porthos, and fell asleep. The big man fondly stroked his brother’s hair. His eyes met Constance's gaze, mutely asking if she believed Aramis. She gave him a slight nod, and some of the tension left his face.
Constance focused on cajoling Athos to eat. The swordsman was more compliant than he had been the day before.
“There is a quite a wine cellar here,” she said thoughtfully.
He perked up noticeably. “Really? What sort of wine? Perhaps you could bring a bottle here.”
“I could..but only if you finish this bowl of broth,” she stated sternly.
“All at once?!” he grumbled.
“Not necessarily. But when you finish it, I’ll bring you some wine.”
He inclined his head. “It’s a deal.”
She hoped that meant he felt better.
Still, it was worrying that it took him until the evening of the next day to finish the bowl. Constance tried to convince herself that it was a good sign that he hadn’t thrown up since they had arrived. But between Athos’ poor condition, and Aramis’ need to sleep for days at a time, it was difficult to remain optimistic.
Porthos kept vigil near his brothers, as it was clear that Aramis needed him as his pillow. The truth was that the marksman would become restless if he did not feel Porthos’ warmth. The big man even tried to see if it would help to wake him up, but it did not.
Constance did not spend much time with them. She was too busy making the rundown place habitable. With d’Artagnan helping her, it created the impression that they were setting up house together. It was an intoxicating feeling. Constance felt like she was living in a dream. A dream which was intense due to contradictory emotions. There was joy in these precious moments stolen from fate, but at the same time, anguish for Aramis and Athos.
She sat down heavily in a chair at the kitchen table. D’Artagnan was busy out in the stable. They would soon eat dinner together. She tensed when she heard approaching steps. Standing up, she silently moved to a place near the door, and stood with a dagger in her hand.
Someone halted outside the door.
“Constance?” The voice was soft and hesitant...almost unfamiliar for a moment.
“Aramis?!” She yanked open the door, and stared at him in shock. “What are you doing here?! Is something wrong with Athos?! Sit down, before you fall!” He looked unsteady, and she maneuvered him towards a chair. He moved along passively, which made her worry even more.
She was now close to panic, and took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. Aramis allowed himself to be guided onto a chair. Surely if Athos’ condition was worse, he would have protested....
“So, tell me,” she said, gently taking his face in her hands. “What are you doing here?” His eyes were closed. The fatigue so clearly visible on his pale face made her heart clench painfully.
“I… I woke up and… Porthos wasn’t there… I… wanted to find him, and I smelled something cooking, so I came here.”
“Porthos will be terrified when he comes back to the room and finds you gone! He’s been so worried about you....” She felt awkward talking to Aramis about it, and her voice trailed off.
“How long have we been here?”
“Nearly three days. You’ve basically been asleep the whole time. It was hard to wake you up even for a few moments. Porthos was constantly checking you for signs of a fever. He has feared for your life so much.” She shook her head sadly. “It seems he has not recovered from you nearly dying when you were so ill at Fontainebleau…”
“I know,” he whispered. A shadow seemed to pass over his face. “He has been giving me the gift of warmth, and all I offer him in return is pain and grief.” He slowly opened his eyes.
“Listen to me!” Constance said vehemently. “I didn’t tell you all that to make you feel guilty! I just… cannot stand to watch him suffer so much. You must find a way to help him. I know you were the one who came close to dying, but now he’s the one who needs help coping with that.” She slowly brought her eyes to his, suddenly afraid she had gone too far.
Aramis smiled at her sadly. “I’ll do my best to help him,” he said, leaning his cheek against her palm. “I’ve tried to be strong for him, but if I’ve been sleeping for three days, it appears that I’ve been a hopeless failure!” He laughed, but his eyes were without mirth.
Constance sighed in exasperation. “No! You misunderstand me! He doesn’t need you to be strong. He just needs your presence. He needs your touch, your voice… your permission to allow him to help you. He needs you to share your burden with him. Knowing that he can help you somehow makes him feel stronger.” She watched him intently, afraid she was being too bold.
But there was no anger in his eyes. His sad, soft gaze hypnotized her...it was full of raw sincerity, without any shield.
Was this exactly what had made the Queen lose her heart to him at the convent? She had undoubtedly been initially attracted by the facade of an indestructible knight. But seeing him broken and vulnerable after Isabelle’s death--had this caused her to fall in love with Aramis the person?
Would I have fallen in love with him myself if I had ever seen him like this before?
“I really have nothing else to say after… our talk in Fontainebleau. I would only be repeating myself,” he said softly. He seemed to be silently pleading to be allowed the illusion of forgetting.
Before she could even think, she blurted out the question that was tormenting her. “Was that meant to be your goodbye?”
He shook his head slightly. After a few moments, he said slowly, “Yes and no. Obviously, if I was to die, I wanted to be at peace with my brothers...but I guess I wasn’t truly aware of seriousness of the infection. I suspected it might be bad, but I really didn’t believe it was happening.”
He averted his eyes for a moment, then looked back at her. “Part of me wanted to unite all of you before leaving this earth, but another part of me just wanted to… explain my actions and hear that I’ve been forgiven… and get Athos to believe that he was forgiven. I’ve learned from experience that when he feels guilty, even if you see no reason for it, it is hopeless to try to persuade him that he’s without fault. It’s much better to maneuver him into a talk and listen to his confession. Then--and only then--can you try to convince him to accept your forgiveness.”
Sighing, he said, “Porthos has taught me that problems spoken aloud to a friend seem to diminish almost immediately. So, in a way, you’re right. I could not bear the thought of leaving this world with Athos drowning in guilt. It wouldn’t be fair.” A bitter smile crossed his features, “But it was more than that… I needed to know that they...that you...wouldn’t reject me once you knew the truth… because they… you were the motivation to beat the odds… the reason which had to be felt, not just known. Forgive me, I’m talking too much.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve just answered my question.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I think we should use this time that has been given to us to talk. We need to heal-- not only from physical wounds and ailments--but from emotional ones.”
He smirked ironically. “So, what criteria will you use to declare us emotionally healed?”
Good question. I wish I could give you an answer. We’re all damaged in one way or another.
She gave him a challenging look. “Why are you asking me? You’re the unofficial medic of the musketeers. You’re usually the one who decides if your comrades are fit for duty or not.”
“As long as you can hold a weapon in your hand and fight… you’re fit for duty. Your nightmares, your tears--as long as they don’t impede your performance, they remain your own affair.” He shrugged. “What I can say is that you’ve done wonders for d’Artagnan. It’s a good thing that you’re together.” This time, his smile was warm and sincere.
“But it’s like we have been living a dream here. I’m so happy with him, but when we are back in Paris, I’ll have to confront my husband. I am afraid, Aramis!”
He surprised her by taking her into his arms. She leaned her head against his chest, gratefully accepting the comfort he was offering her.
“Constance… it will be difficult, but the important thing to remember is that you love, and you are loved in return. You will be with your sweetheart. I know that you’re afraid, but I promise you that as long as any of us live, you won’t be alone. And if we perish, the Captain and Anne will take care of you. Even if d’Artagnan were to die, you will never end up on the street.”
His words shook her to her very core. He obviously had guessed the reason for her fears, and knew just how to soothe them. She saw nothing but sincerity in his dark eyes.
“I love d’Artagnan…” she whispered.
And I want to have a family with him. But I for now, I use herbs in order to make that less likely to happen. I cannot afford to become pregnant now.
“If you need anything… just let me know.” Aramis’ words took her by surprise.
Was he reading my thoughts?! If not, what did he mean?!
All at once, she realized that it did not matter--because he had meant every word that he had said. If you need anything, let me know.
“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I am..” She never got a chance to finish her sentence. The door flew open, and Porthos rushed in.
“Constance! Have you….” He suddenly fell silent, his eyes widening when he saw Aramis.
“Why are you here?”
“I was searching for you... and the divine scent of Constance’s cooking led me here. Please forgive me, brother.”
Porthos crushed him in an embrace. Aramis shifted his position in order to lean his head against the crook of Porthos’ neck. They stayed like this for a long moment.
“How do you feel?” Porthos asked finally.
“Much better,” Aramis murmured. “The long sleep did wonders for me...and made me quite hungry.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Porthos fondly kissed his hair.
Constance smiled, always happy to see a display of brotherhood between the two men. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Porthos helped with the trays. They brushed away Aramis’ attempt to help. The mere fact that the marksman was walking by their side caused Constance to grin like a madman. She glanced at Porthos, and realized she was not the only one who was feeling such emotion.
Athos gazed at them intently when they entered the room, then raised one of his eyebrows quizzically.
Aramis sat down near him. “How are you feeling?”
Athos shrugged, but Constance was glad to see him accept the bowl of soup that she offered him.
A moment later, d'Artagnan entered the room, and exclaimed, “Aramis! You’re awake!”
Despite his joy, Constance noted with amusement that his eyes immediately strayed to the food.
The Gascon helped himself to a full plate, and started to eat with relish. “We need to pay more attention to the horses. They cannot just stay in the stable. I took each of them for a quick ride today, but they need more exercise!”
“As we all do.” Porthos gestured towards d’Artagnan and Constance. The fact that he included her made the young woman flush joyfully.
I am really one of them! They treat me as an equal!
“I agree. We are doing Constance a disservice by keeping her cooped up in the kitchen,” Aramis said lightly. “Her cooking skills are exquisitive, but she could use more work on her marksmanship and her sword skills.”
Porthos grinned. “Good idea!” The big man’s’ enthusiasm made her a bit uneasy.
A few days later, she thought I was right to feel uneasy . For what seemed like the hundredth time, she found herself on the ground after an unsuccessful attempt to defend herself against Porthos.
“I thought you said I need practice with the sword!” she exclaimed.
D’Artagnan laughed. “You do. The only problem is that you have to get through Porthos to actually get your hands on your sword.”
Her sweetheart was sparring with Aramis. The session was more of a light dance than anything else, an attempt to get their bodies used to training again. The medic was still weak, but he insisted on taking part in their training. They had collectively decided it would be best to allow Aramis to exercise with them in order to keep an eye on him.
Athos sat on the bench that stood against the wall. He was dozing, but from time to time he cast a glance towards them.
Aramis sat down heavily next to him, his body drenched in sweat. Athos opened one eye, quickly assessing his brother’s condition.
“Porthos, leave Constance to d’Artagnan,” Athos stated dryly. “Aramis appears to be in a need of a pillow.”
Finally, she had the chance to cross blades with her sweetheart. She went on the attack, forcing him to go on the defensive. However, just at the moment she was sure to best him, he caught her sword on his, and twisted it out of her hand.
“You forgot about your main gauche,” drawled Athos. “It’s not in your hand in order to make the fight tougher for you.”
She sighed. Athos was obviously right.
“As for you, d’Artagnan--” Athos paused, and gave him a disapproving look. “If Constance had used her dagger properly, she would have easily wounded you. The injury would have been quite painful and disturbing. You need to be less enthusiastic with your attacks.”
A week later, Athos did not only comment on the action. He took up his own sword.
“We must go over a few of your movements. You need to move deliberately, but neatly.”
Athos glanced at Aramis. The marksman saluted him with his sword, then proceeded to slowly go on the offensive. They must have practiced that particular exchange numerous times, as the sequence of moves seemed to be well known to both men. Finally, Aramis launched his own attack. Athos flicked the marksman’s blade aside, causing it to slice through the air. His own sword slid onto Aramis’ blade, then halted on the medic’s throat.
They repeated the movements a few more times. Finally, a fatigued Athos sat down on his bench, watching as his friends repeated the exercise. It was disturbing to see him so weak.
Constance tried to listen to all the hints Athos gave them, but became frustrated when she was unable to perform the technique correctly. She felt she was somehow making a key mistake, but neither were she nor d’Artagnan could identify it.
Finally, Athos stood beside her. He placed his hand on hers, and guided her movements until a very shocked d’Artagnan had her blade resting on his neck.
“Once more!” Athos ordered, then stood back to observe their movements.
Constance finally managed to repeat the sequence correctly on her own. She did it two more times, just to be sure it was not sheer luck.
Athos saluted her with the glass of wine in his hand. She grinned at him like an idiot. The rare taste of happiness made her almost feel lightheaded.
She looked around, and saw d’Artagnan smiling fondly at her. Porthos quickly closed the distance between them, and gave her a warm hug.
“Well done,” he murmured.
Aramis joined them, light dancing in his eyes.“Yes, sister--well done.” She ducked out from under Porthos’ arms to place a quick kiss on the medic’s cheek. Her brother’s cheek.
“I wish we could stay here forever!” she said fervently.
“Oh, I think you’d eventually get bored,” responded Aramis with a smile.
“If I didn’t return home, what would I tell my husband?” She finally had blurted out the thought which had kept her from sleeping over the past few days.
“You would tell him that the Queen needs you,” responded Aramis simply. “After all, you have a room at the palace....and I’ll always be willing to defend your honor with my pistol.”
“No! I don’t want Jacques dead!”
“You’re not alone, Constance,” Athos said, finishing his glass. “You’ll never be alone as long as we are alive.”
It was so wonderful to hear Athos say the same words that Aramis had said. It almost seemed like a vow.
Porthos nodded. “We will gladly face your husband with you.”
They were so amazing!
“And we’re doing it for you,” Aramis said. “Not just because you are the woman that d’Artagnan loves.”
“I am humbled by your words…” she whispered. “Thank you!”
This was madness. It was a leap into the unknown...into a dangerous life. It was the final break from her vows. A final escape from her former life. A few months ago, she had not been ready to put aside everything to follow d’Artagnan….to freely choose to live as his lover.
But now, she was not just choosing to be his lover. She was choosing to be part of a family.
Suddenly, Athos’ eyes met hers. The swordsman extended his hand, and Aramis’ and Porthos’ hands landed on top of it. D’Artagnan joined them, and suddenly four pairs of eyes were looking at her. They were inviting her to join them.
She covered their hands with her own.
She was not alone anymore.
Even if she was headed for a fall, they would be there to pick her up...or to perish with her.
The End