AN: ThorneofAcre wanted to see Aramis trying to get to the bottom of what happened between D'Artagnan and Constance and going to talk to her and sort of commiserating on what it' like to have your love life ruined by the Cardinal. Hope I've done it justice!
Ties in with my last story "Justice and Heartbreak" but can be read on its own.
Aramis stood outside the door of the Bonacieux house, wondering if this was considered 'crossing the line.' He was not usually one to interfere with the love affairs of others, having all too often been on the receiving end, but he felt this time he needed to intervene. It had been over two weeks since D'Artagnan received his commission and had his heart broken. And the lad had yet to recover.
Aramis simply couldn't fathom how Constance Bonacieux, one of the best women he had ever met (and that was saying something) could have callously broken D'Artagnan's heart. He sensed a deeper story here, and he was going to find out what it was. They both deserved happiness.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to imagine how hard Porthos would hit him if he found out about this, Aramis rapped gently on the door. Constance answered, as he knew she would. He'd checked the day before to make sure her husband would be out of town until the following evening. He'd dealt with enough husbands in his time to know they were best avoided even when there was nothing indecent to the visit.
"Aramis!" Constance exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?" He saw the worry in her eyes, the unspoken question. Is D'Artagnan all right?
He inclined his head. "Everything is fine, Madame." She relaxed minutely. It was obvious she still cared for the boy, so why had she broken his heart? He was going to get to the bottom of this. "May I come in?"
"Of course!" Constance stepped aside and followed him into the small kitchen area.
Aramis glanced down the hallway towards D'Artagnan's old room, which sat empty. "No new lodger?" he inquired politely, watching for her reaction.
Something flashed across her face, so quickly he almost missed it. "No, we haven't been looking," she told him, holding up a bottle of wine questioningly. Aramis shook his head. He was not here to drink. "My husband's got a new commission from a wealthy client, so it's not like we need the money."
Aramis raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. Who was this wealthy man? Constance's voice was even, but something in her tone told him she did not like this new client. Could it be related?
"That's a shame," he said lightly. "You seemed to get on so well with D'Artagnan." There. As he said his name, Constance turned her face away and her breathing hitched. "It will be a pity to lose you to our adventures."
Constance turned back and smiled at him. "None of that! I'm still your friend, just not your lackey!" Aramis laughed and sat down at one of the chairs. He was going to have to dig deeper here.
"If only you would join us again for a short while," he said, taking off his hat and toying casually with the feather. "Your presence might raise young D'Artagnan's spirits."
Constance froze for a moment. Then she said in a soft voice, "Oh?"
"Mmmm, the lad's hardly been himself lately," Aramis went on. He knew he was being rather cruel, but he was too honorable to ask outright what had happened without some further evidence. "Seems someone broke his heart. He's got his commission now, but does he enjoy it?" He shook his head regretfully. "Sits with Athos in the tavern every night, drinking like his life depended on it. Says he no longer trusts in love. It's a real shame."
Constance had her back to him, but he couldn't fail to see her shoulders shaking slightly. His heart went out from her, but he needed her to confirm it once and for all, so he asked, "Would you know anything about it, Madame?"
Constance gave a small sob and he leapt to his feet. It was proof enough. He offered her his handkerchief, resting a hand comfortingly on her back. Constance took it, wiping at her eyes, as Aramis steered her towards a chair. "Will you not tell me what happened, Madame?" he asked gently. "I truly don't understand. Why would you send him away when you obviously care?"
"Sometimes it isn't that simple." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "And really Aramis, it's just Constance. No more of this 'Madame' business."
Aramis flashed her a small smile but said nothing, waiting for her to speak. He didn't have long to wait. He sensed Constance had been dealing with her emotions on her own, and now that she at last had a chance to relieve herself of them it would all come out rather quickly.
"I had to do it," she confessed, her voice small. "I had no choice. My husband found out." Ahh. That explained some things, but not all of it. "But surely you could have simply told D'Artagnan that?" he asked. "It is regrettable, and still painful, but he would have understood. He would not have asked you to choose himself over your husband."
"It's not just that," Constance said, tears in her eyes. "I wish to God it had been just that. Had that been the case, I could've chosen him and been happy." She would've chosen D'Artagnan over her husband? This was more serious than he had thought.
Constance shook her head, tears spilling over now. Aramis pressed the handkerchief back into her hand. "My husband told me I had to break his heart so thoroughly that he would never think of me again." Rage boiled in his veins. The man was cruel.
"But why did you?" he asked gently. "Why did you not choose D'Artagnan, as you said you would?"
"I did it for his own good," she said quietly, "Because I cannot be responsible for his death." Aramis's blood froze.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully, struggling to keep his voice calm.
Constance looked up at him sadly. "My husband's new client is the Cardinal," she whispered. "He says the Cardinal would grant him a favor, if he asked it."
Aramis stared at her for a long moment. "And he would have D'Artagnan killed unless you ended it and broke his heart." Now it all made sense, bitter, perfect sense. Constance nodded, another sob catching in her throat.
"I didn't want to, but what else could I do?" she asked brokenly. Aramis put an arm around her, offering her comfort. "I couldn't let anything happen to him!"
"So you gave him up to protect him," he murmured, empathy surging within him. "To save his life." How often had he contemplated the same? How many nights had he laid awake, wondering if Porthos would be happier, safer, if he were to walk away? "You are stronger than I, Constance." He could never walk away, not even to save his love.
She looked at him, and Aramis swore he saw understanding in her eyes. He wondered how much she had guessed, but she did not ask, and he did not elaborate.
"You must know though, that we will never allow anything to happen to him," he said after a moment, voice grave. "I can explain to him what you've told me. We can work something-"
"No!" she cried, looking up at him wildly. "He cannot know! Please, Aramis, he cannot know! If my husband finds out, he will have him killed, and you may not be able to protect him. I can't risk that. Say you will never tell him. Promise me!"
He hated it, but he knew she was right. The Cardinal had spies everywhere, and the Musketeers could not stop them all. D'Artagnan could not know. "I promise."
She nodded and closed her eyes. After a few minutes she spoke again. "Will he be all right?"
"In the end." She nodded, sniffing. "But he will never forget you." Her eyes opened and the look in them was half gratitude, half pain.
"Why did this have to happen?" she asked, and Aramis felt his heart clench in sympathy.
"Because the Cardinal is evil. He ruins lives and destroys love, and God help those who stand in his path."
Constance looked up at him strangely. "You speak from experience." He nodded bitterly, remembering Adele. He had truly believed she loved him, and while his feelings for her had been less strong, knowing that she chose the Cardinal over him was an ache that did not cease. Thank God for Porthos.
"Love cannot survive around the Cardinal," he said simply, not wishing to share. She nodded, understanding, and they sat in silence for a few moments.
At last Aramis spoke again. "Do not give up all hope, Constance," he said gently, wishing he could offer more. "There may yet be a way to find happiness even in this darkness. You must not lose faith."
"Hope hurts too much," she said with a sad smile. "But it doesn't matter. Even if I wanted to give up, I couldn't. I love him." There was such simple conviction in her words that Aramis wanted to cry.
"As he loves you," he said softly, and this time her smile was stronger. Constance might be lost now, but she would not break. "Love will find a way. Even against the Cardinal." It was not a hope he had for himself, but for his friends, he believed it.
Later, as Aramis made his way into the yard at the garrison, he could see D'Artagnan and Athos sparring near the shooting range. Porthos was leaning against a post, watching them with interest.
"He's getting good," Aramis said by way of greeting, and Porthos grunted his agreement.
"Where've you been, eh?"
"I've been off comforting a beautiful lady," he said, because it was the truth, but more importantly it was the response that Porthos wouldn't question. He didn't want to explain where he'd been. Porthos was always telling him not to interfere. As was Athos. Honestly the two of them didn't have a romantic bone in their bodies.
Porthos snorted at his answer, allowing their shoulders to brush in a not-so-subtle reminder. Porthos didn't get jealous, exactly, but he always liked to have Aramis to himself if he's been off courting. Aramis smirked and didn't bother to correct him.
Athos twisted D'Artagnan's blade from his hand with a perfectly executed lunge, and the boy gave him a grin. "I almost had you that time!" Athos rolled his eyes and pointed his sword at Porthos instead, raising an eyebrow in invitation.
"Hell, why not?" Porthos shrugged, grabbing up his enormous sword and sauntering over. D'Artagnan claimed his vacated position against the pole.
"How are you?" Aramis asked him quietly. D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow in a passable imitation of Athos.
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Aramis was well aware of the gentle touch this situation required. Push too hard, D'Artagnan would grow defensive. Too gentle and the boy would shrug him off. One ill-chosen word could reveal where he'd been all day, and he did not think the boy would take kindly to his meddling.
"I've had my heart broken in my day, D'Artagnan," he said with a casual shrug. "The hurt does not fade so quickly."
The boy's face twisted unhappily. "No reason for it to hurt," he replied keeping his voice light with obvious difficulty. "She didn't care anymore. Makes it easier, knowing that."
Aramis looked at him steadily, not even bothering to call him on the blatant lie. From the shooting range he heard a clatter as Porthos's sword flew out of his hand, accompanied by a string of rather creative curses.
"Do not judge her too harshly," he told D'Artagnan softly as the other rejoined them. "There may be circumstances you know nothing about." The lad's face was hard, but he sensed that part of D'Artagnan wanted to believe him.
"What're you two whispering about?" Porthos interrupted, flinging an arm possessively around Aramis. Athos followed more sedately.
"Just giving our newest recruit some advice about love," Aramis informed them with a disarming smile, allowing D'Artagnan a chance to collect himself and play along. No need to make the lad uncomfortable.
"How unfortunate for him," Athos said dryly. Turning to D'Artagnan, he added, "Aramis fancies himself a sort of Cupid. All he's missing is the little bow." Porthos roared with laughter. Athos smirked. "Treville wanted to see us, I believe," he told them, nodding toward the man watching them from the railing, and headed off, D'Artagnan trailing after him. Porthos was leaning heavily on Aramis, still laughing.
"Please, it wasn't that amusing," Aramis muttered, shoving Porthos good-naturedly against the stables as they passed. He thought privately that he wouldn't mind being Cupid if it meant mending the wounds between D'Artagnan and Constance. He hoped he was right and that their love would find a way even in the face of the Cardinal's power. Love had to find a way.
A bellow beside him snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced over at Porthos, who he'd somehow shoved into the water trough. Without a second's hesitation he turned tail and fled for Treville's office, the soaked man hot on his heels, all thoughts of D'Artagnan temporarily forgotten.
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