Chapter 1: They'll Never Know
AN: I only have a vague idea of where I'm going with this, so all suggestions and ideas are welcome.
Also, to avoid confusion, the pronoun I'm using for d'Artagnan is she. D'Artagnan will only be referred to as he in a character's direct thoughts or when a character is speaking.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers, not even a single bit.
Charlotte d'Artagnan was in a very, very big mess.
Honestly, she wasn't really sure how it happened. Her father had been traveling with her to Paris, just for a bit of rest and relaxation, when they stopped at an inn. She went to take care of the horses while he got a room. Then, a man claiming to be Athos of the King's Musketeers raided the inn, murdering d'Artagnan's father in the process. D'Artagnan couldn't let that cruel, heartless man get away with that. So she disguised herself as a boy and went to challenge this Athos... and, well... everything just went downhill from there.
Now, several months later, d'Artagnan personally knew Athos, Aramis, and Porthos as close friends. The Inseparables, as they were dubbed, had even decided to train her. Everything felt absolutely wonderful.
Except d'Artagnan was still disguised as a boy.
And no one still alive in the entire world knew about it.
Everyone believed her to be a boy, even the Musketeers. If - no, when someone saw through her perfect little mask, she would undoubtedly be exposed, and then she would probably be hung. Or something like that. The authorities could try to burn her at the stake instead. It had almost happened to Comtesse Ninon De Larroque, after all.
But, one might ask, why would d'Artagnan be sentenced to death for this? Well, to put it simply, women didn't have the same rights as men. For lying to everyone for such a long time, yes, she could very well be hung.
In hindsight, d'Artagnan should've told everyone the truth after she had dueled with Athos, or maybe after she had helped clear his name. They wouldn't have hung her then, not when she had only lied to them for a day. But if she had told them, then she would've been forced to live the life of a dainty, dignified lady and eventually marry someone. She didn't want that. And she might have gotten a bit carried away with everything after meeting the Inseparables.
So, d'Artagnan stuck with her disguise. She kept up her act flawlessly, never having even a small slip up.
But there was a slight downside to this.
She had to pretend to be mute.
Because d'Artagnan sounded like a woman when speaking, she couldn't talk without blowing her carefully constructed disguise. If anyone heard her speak, they would know she was a female. Frankly, it was annoying. But, seeing no other solution, she had no choice except for falsely claiming to be mute.
It was difficult at first. She became accustomed to it eventually, though, and also became quite comfortable with it. As long as she never spoke, the woman could whimper and cry out when she needed to. She could still claim to be mute and make noises like humming and whining. When she realized she could do that without being questioned, it had alleviated her burden greatly.
But she couldn't speak, and it was frustrating, in a way. There had been times when d'Artagnan desperately wished to voice her thoughts, but she kept silent instead. She could never risk being discovered.
Because no one, not Athos, Aramis, or Porthos - not anyone at all - could know that she, Charlotte d'Artagnan, was a woman.
Never.
They deserved a good, long break.
After the Inseparables and d'Artagnan had discovered the poison, saved the Cardinal, and then saved Comtesse Ninon De Larroque, the four were exhausted. They at least wanted to buy a few drinks at a local tavern.
So that's exactly what they did.
The three Musketeers, along with d'Artagnan, had decided to wearily drag themselves over to the tavern. And upon entering the building, they chose to sit in the darkest corner of the room. Or, well, Athos did. The other three just followed him.
Athos didn't always decide to separate himself from others. He only did so when he was reminded of his past, and the appearance of Milady at the trial hadn't helped. His three companions were only allowed to sit with him because he felt too tired to insist otherwise.
So there they were, sitting at a table in the most secluded corner of the room they could find. For a long while no one uttered a word. Then a bit of wine was had, and it wasn't long until Aramis began to ramble and tell stories.
"Before Adele, I once knew a woman like the Comtesse," he commented. "She was beautiful."
Porthos grunted. "You knew a lot of women in the past."
"Ah, yes," Aramis agreed with a slight smirk.
D'Artagnan had actually liked the Comtesse. No, scratch that - she had loved her. Not only did the woman believe in the education of females, but she also was a staunch believer in the equality of men and women. If all people were equal, d'Artagnan would be able to become a Musketeer without the fear of being discovered and hung. And oh, how wonderful such an idea was! It was disappointing to hear that such an amazing woman was to be sent away.
"Are you going to drink your wine, d'Artagnan?" Porthos asked.
The young woman in disguise glanced down at her glass. It was still full and untouched.
In response to the question, d'Artagnan pulled out a mini chalkboard and a piece of chalk. These items had been gifts from her father and mother when she was young. Because she claimed to be mute, d'Artagnan now used the chalk and chalkboard as her primary way of communicating with others. Writing words with chalk took longer than speaking, but it sufficed. It was better than not being able to communicate at all.
I don't want to drink right now, she wrote on her board.
It was a poor excuse, but Porthos still accepted it with a nod. In truth, d'Artagnan never drank wine. If she ever became drunk, she could accidentally reveal her secret, and that would not be good. The very idea of such an occurrence caused her to shudder in fear.
"As I was saying," Aramis said. "There once was this woman I knew..."
"Was she the one that slapped me when I mentioned your name?" Porthos interrupted lazily, as if he already knew his companion's thoughts.
Aramis grinned. "Yes, that one."
"I seem to recall that she nearly killed us in our sleep," Athos stated calmly.
They laughed awkwardly, and d'Artagnan smiled. She remembered that event. While she couldn't say it was pleasant, it had been fun witnessing Athos restrain the woman and tie her to a pole. And when the female lunatic began chewing Aramis out for something he did... well, let's just say that Athos felt a bit annoyed after being so rudely awakened for this. He would never hurt a (mostly) harmless woman, but apparently his threats could be very scary. Who knew he always kept a dagger under his pillow?
"D'Artagnan couldn't sleep for a week after that," Porthos said, eliciting a chuckle from Aramis.
D'Artagnan blushed. She'd admit Porthos' statement was true, albeit exaggerated, but who could blame her? Being murdered in her sleep by a crazy woman was a terrifying prospect, even during the times she slept in the same room as the Musketeers.
D'Artagnan also remembered that, on the nights she slept in the same room as the Musketeers, she always wore at least three layers of clothing. Others would tease her when she did so, but she didn't care. Keeping her gender a secret came first.
"I was speaking with Constance earlier," Porthos said, breaking the silence that had briefly fallen over them. "And she told me she had never seen d'Art shave."
Three pairs of eyes turned to said woman - or man, as the Musketeers believed. They stared at her intently.
At this, d'Artagnan visibly stiffened, panic rising in her chest. A look of horror crossed her face. She had finally done it. She had finally blew her cover, and now they would all know the truth. No, no, no... this couldn't be happening! She didn't want to DIE!
Noticing her expression of horror, Porthos laughed and clapped her on the back. "It's okay. I remember the time when Aramis couldn't grow a beard. He had been only- hey!"
Porthos spun to glower at Aramis, who had just punched him in the shoulder. But Aramis feigned innocence, completely ignoring the other Musketeer and pretending as if nothing had ever happened. He casually took a sip of wine, then yawned. This only made Porthos raise an eyebrow.
Finally, after pretending to accidentally notice his companion's gaze, Aramis did a double take.
"What?" he asked.
At that, Porthos only huffed good-naturely and turned away. Aramis started to do the same, but then suddenly stopped as if contemplating something. He appeared as if he was trying to remember something he had forgotten to do. After an extra moment of thought, he twisted to face d'Artagnan.
"I've been meaning to ask: are you hurt?" he inquired.
D'Artagnan furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Why was he asking that all of a sudden?
"I'm only concerned," Aramis continued. "You usually don't tell us about your injuries. Well, obviously you can't tell us since you're mute, but you could still bring it to our attention somehow."
Porthos nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you always hide your injuries. There was that one time where you had a gash on your leg..."
"And the time when your arm was bruised," Aramis added.
"And the night you broke your nose..."
"And the time you had a nasty cut on your hip..."
"And the time you let a small cut get infected..."
"And the day you dislocated your shoulder..."
"And the time you had multiple burns..."
"And the time with the bees..."
D'Artagnan glanced back and forth between Porthos and Aramis as they added to the list, a growing expression of shock on her face. How exactly did they remember all of this?
"And the night you were stabbed in the leg..."
"And the time you let another cut get infected again..."
It was true: d'Artagnan usually never told anyone about her injuries. She had always been afraid that Aramis would treat her, would notice something was different about the shape of her body, and then would realize what she was. Sure, her body did appear a tiny bit boy-like after years of working on a farm, and she could pass for a skinny boy. She also had a scarf tied around her already small chest to hide her curves. But if Aramis poked around enough, she knew he would inevitably discover the secret she had kept for so long.
"And the time you sprained an ankle..."
"And the night you skinned your side..."
"And the day you needed so much... s-stitching..."
"And the time you... the time you passed out..."
Aramis choked on the last two words. He doubted he would ever be able to forget the day when that horrible event occurred. Athos and Porthos seemed to slump in their seats, clearly distressed by the reminder of what had happened to their youngest a few months ago.
To be honest, d'Artagnan actually couldn't recall what had happened to her a few months ago, on that day, the time before she had passed out. They had been ambushed on a mission, she believed. There was fighting, and then excruciating pain, and then blood... yes, lots and lots of blood.
But none of that mattered. Because after d'Artagnan had been treated and woke up, no one had realized she was a woman. As long as no one knew her secret, she was fine.
A brief minute passed. Everyone remained silent - Athos, Aramis, and Porthos because they were lost in sad memories, and d'Artagnan because she couldn't speak.
It wasn't until the woman in disguise shifted uncomfortably in her seat that Aramis, who had been staring into his glass of wine, looked up. He gazed at her with a solemn expression. Eventually the others joined him, until all three men were staring at d'Artagnan. It caused her to feel uneasy.
Then, suddenly and abruptly, Aramis' entire demeanor changed. His previously forlorn look vanished. He perked up slightly, a small grin upon his face.
"You'll forgive us if we make sure you aren't injured, d'Artagnan."
The young woman suddenly tensed, before relaxing and repeatedly blinking in confusion. Aramis wasn't making a move to check for any injuries on her body. In fact, the Musketeer wasn't moving at all. Strange. When he'd said that, she'd thought...
"Porthos," Aramis said lowly.
At that moment d'Artagnan understood, but it was too late. Porthos, who was beside her, grabbed her by the arms and held her in place. He pulled d'Artagnan to him until the back of her head leaned against his chest, allowing her legs to remain under the table. And his hold was strong. Despite the woman's frantic attempts to break free, Porthos had no trouble in restraining her. He tightened his grip. She wouldn't escape.
No, d'Artagnan couldn't let this happen! If Aramis inspected her body for injuries, he could notice something was wrong, and he could notice she was a woman! IT COULDN'T END LIKE THIS!
As d'Artagnan increased her struggles (She couldn't allow this, she couldn't let them know!), Aramis casually came over to her. He smiled.
"We're only concerned."
His tone implied that he truly was, but d'Artagnan knew this had to be a joke. She wasn't harmed. They knew that, right?
Desperate, she looked to Athos, silently pleading for help. Since they had sat in a secluded corner of the tavern, no one else was around except him. Perhaps he would see the unreasonable silliness of Aramis' and Porthos' acts. But she was disappointed when Athos only watched the scene unfold before him, looking on with a bemused expression.
The first thing Aramis did was give her a quick look-over, checking for major wounds in almost a lazy manner.
"No visible blood... that's good," he said to himself.
Aramis' first, brief inspection actually didn't worry d'Artagnan. It was the part that came next that bothered her.
"As for bruises, broken bones, and internal bleeding..."
Like a dam bursting, D'Artagnan struggled wildly, trying to jerk out of Porthos' grasp. If Aramis even touched her, he would be that much closer to discovering her true identity. They could finally unveil the truth. And worst of all, d'Artagnan wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
The woman in disguise kicked, pulled, pushed, jerked - anything to escape and just get away from Porthos and Aramis. They couldn't find out! She had to escape, she had to fight!
Upon seeing d'Artagnan's hysterical reaction, Aramis almost wanted to order Porthos to release her. Was something wrong with their youngest? He had never received a reaction like this before. Was d'Artagnan... afraid? Not afraid of him, surely? Aramis would never hurt d'Artagnan.
But then the Musketeer forced the idea out of his mind, thinking nothing of it. He's just being stubborn, he thought to himself.
And so Aramis resumed his work, gently poking and prodding at d'Artagnan's body. He was only checking for broken bones by doing so, but the young woman in disguise reacted as if he was torturing her. Aramis continued nonetheless.
By this point, d'Artagnan was panicking. She had been treated by the Musketeer before, but not like this, not with her arms restrained. She felt unprotected and very, very frightened.
Oh god... NO! This couldn't be! She never wanted this! It wasn't her fault she was female! THIS COULDN'T BE THE END! SHE WAS TOO YOUNG TO DIE!
Aramis delicately jabbed at her side, still ignoring her frantic attempts of escape. Nope, nothing broken. Maybe a broken rib, perhaps?
He raised a hand, preparing to check that area. Still panicking, d'Artagnan choose this time to let out a soft, vulnerable cry - all she could do while still pretending to be mute. She shut her eyes (No, no, no, NO, NO! Don't let this happen, not here, not now!). But this didn't stop Aramis. His hand lowered, and...
"Enough, Aramis," Athos commanded. "He's not injured. He'll only hurt himself like that."
The older Musketeer appeared to be a bit distraught, probably caused by d'Artagnan's distressed cry. Athos could never stand watching their youngest like this. Not when d'Artagnan seemed so desperate and vulnerable. It was unbearable.
In response to the command, Aramis backed off, but did so reluctantly. D'Artagnan was acting strange. Something had to be wrong, and it worried the Musketeer. He wanted to know what was wrong.
Once Aramis had moved away, and d'Artagnan's body relaxed, Porthos released his temporary hostage. D'Artagnan jerked forward as if she had still been trying to free herself. She immediately scooted closer to Athos, her face betraying her fear of what had almost occurred.
This action concerned the Musketeers. They knew of d'Artagnan's tendency to conceal her injuries, but why was their youngest acting like this? Why was she afraid? And of what? They didn't understand.
But no one mentioned this. They just brushed it off, believing it to be nothing of importance. The memory of the incident would soon be buried deep within their minds, forgotten to everyone besides d'Artagnan.
And later, the four would go to their homes and call it a night. When they awoke the next morning, they probably would all have a hangover - all except for d'Artagnan. She didn't drink, after all. But, what might be worse, the woman wouldn't have even slept a wink. All night, she would have been just laying there, thinking and brooding over the evening's events.
And she never, ever wanted a repeat of that terrible, terrible occurrence in the tavern again.
She couldn't allow it. So she would just have to be more careful.
