Bitter and Sweet
By: MusketeerAdventure
The previous mission's exploits, having taken a toll, our musketeers are somewhat worse for wear. Porthos – a badly twisted knee; Aramis – bruised ribs; and Athos, with wounded pride. It sat with him badly that the group had been found out; which made the mission that much harder to complete with success.
d'Artangnan had sustained a blow to the head, which seemed to have jarred his senses and loosed his lips. Along the road, he spoke mostly of Gascony and his father.
Riding back toward Paris, the weather had not helped their battered bodies or their mood. The wetness – the sticky, humid dampness only served to make the journey that much more unpleasant. The wetness could not even be described as rain – but a mist that drenched as if it were. The horse's hooves march in pervasive mud.
How fitting.
Before long, they reach what looked to be an abandoned barn. The house ahead all but uninhabitable with the roof caved in. Athos made the decision to stop for the night and all agreed with nods and groans of appreciation.
Dismounting was a chore for all. Athos bone tired; Aramis slightly hunched and Porthos hopping painfully. d'Artangnan sat – confused as to how to swing down from his saddle.
Athos reached up for him, "Come d'Artangnan, let me help you", and brought him down bodily from his horse. Together the four entered the barn to recoup for the night.
Athos carefully helped d'Artangnan to sit with his back against a stall – as the three then pulled the horses along, unsaddling; brushing down and giving what nourishment to them they could muster. d'Artangnan looked on with the detachment of the concussed, and rattled on about Buttercup and her faithfulness.
Sometime later, it was their turn to settle down for the night. A small blaze was had, and blankets were put out to try and stem the damp coolness of the airy space.
Huddled together – every eye was fixed on the fire; all with thoughts on inner concerns; save for one whose overt talking had not ceased since being knocked in the head with the butt of a sword. Who had since spoken of Gascony – his exploits as a child – his father's virtue; his faithful horse, and now –?
"I do love her you know. Her face is so lovely. Her eyes…." his voice trails off. "How sweet her nose. And the way she tilts her head when listening. I know she must love me still. I believe my heart is broken."
The three look to each other over the blaze, but say nothing. What is there to say to this? To listen is the only salve.
"Alas, she has chosen her husband over me." He sighs deeply and looks to them all. "Do you think – perhaps we could still….?"
Athos squints slightly at him. Reading his expression, he continues, "No, I suppose not. You are right. To put her from my thoughts is the answer. To think of other things"
d'Artangnan looks to and fro. "To think of flowers – spring – sweet scents of lilac. She loves to speak of spring; the newness of life - the greenness of great beginnings."
The mist finally turns to rain, and the pattering on the roof continues to sober the moment as d'Artangnan fleetingly smiles; looking inward.
He looks to Athos again, whose bewildered gaze captures his, wary of giving away his own thoughts on the matter. Sensing this, d'Artangnan continues on quickly.
"How about I think on sunshine then? Bright sunshine and light with gentle puffs of wind to cool hot skin on balmy days. Her – outdoors, singing funny lullabies of happiness with the sun's rays beaming in her hair. Red strands of light billowing behind her."
Silence sits between them. d'Artangnan thinking of once held dreams – holding her hand – walking in sunshine – together, with all eyes to see.
Aramis, thinking on his love – his child – lost moments now and in the future. Forever a secret to be kept to his deathbed. Watching d'Artangnan now, he envies his moment of sharing.
Porthos – thoughts full of Flea, of women loved and let go. His life now – wondering about his parentage, and what this holds or means in the time to come.
Athos – thoughts in quiet moments always fall to Anne; her betrayal; and continued madness that will forever sit between them. Is there hope for love? Perhaps, never again for him. These thoughts are better left hidden away, at least for tonight. Tonight, d'Artangnan looks to him for answers.
Athos suggests instead, "Perhaps if you rest", and rises to assist d'Artangnan in sliding down to his back, pushing damp hay beneath his head for a pillow.
"Yes." d'Artangnan looks full on into his eyes. "Maybe if I close my eyes and let myself rest, then I will think of other things."
He blinks at Athos, who takes a seat next to his prone form. d'Artangnan rolls to his side facing him, and begins to close his eyes.
"But when I close my eyes, she lives with me in such blissful, wondrous dreams. We are so happy and true. We love so well, and she says the words, I love you d'Artangnan. Each time I awaken, groaning with pleasure, until I reach for her and she has disappeared. The pain of it." His voice cracks as he closes his fist tight.
Suddenly d'Artangnan sits up, and places his head in his hands. The others watch on; understanding this agony of first love and loss.
"Maybe not rest then?" d'Artangnan asks.
Athos places his hand on his shoulder and squeezes hard. "Then do not rest."
d'Artangnan continues, buoyed by the comfort Athos offers.
"This weather suits me tonight; damp, sticky, and uncomfortable. It is how I feel most of the time – uncomfortable. When I see her from a distance, for a moment, I come back together in my skin. The other half of me…." He cannot finish the thought and shakes his head.
Looking to them, he asks, "Do you think she is thinking of me just now, at this very moment?"
Aramis' gaze looks distant, affected by d'Artangnan's speech. "Perhaps she is", he replies, his lips quirking slightly, dreamily.
"Somehow, I sense her looking out, pulling the curtains aside in the kitchen window, and wondering about me. That sounds selfish doesn't it?" He then adds enthusiastically, "I must turn over a new leaf. Concentrate on this life, and this moment in time. And what glorious times these are!" d'Artangnan grins cheekily, at his brothers in turn. They return his smile warmly.
"I just wish to share it all with her, as we share here with each other. Her spirit of adventure matches yours Porthos and her laugh is just as big. In another place and time, she would make a marvelous musketeer. I'll not meet another woman like her."
d'Artangnan is starting to nod off, and his body tilts in Athos' direction until their shoulders meet and his head rests at his chest. Athos looks down on him fondly. "You are but twenty and one" he offers.
The three remain huddled, gazing at the small fire, and think on lost loves and heartaches when they were twenty and one, and chuckle quietly.
d'Artangnan takes some offence, but is too tired to raise his head; instead laying closer until Athos must put his arm around his shoulders to hold him close.
"When I dwell on it too much – a pain starts here under my ribs, and then it becomes hard to catch my breath." His words take on an uncharacteristic tone, "She has chosen another."
Athos holds him tighter still, "Bitterness does not become you."
d'Artangnan nods his head into his chest, and now the crook of his neck, "You are right. You are right. What am I to do?"
Athos is silent, unsure how to respond. So silent, d'Artangnan thinks he will not answer. The others watch him – the blaze leaving questioning flames in their eyes. They want answers too.
"You ask the wrong person. I am unable to speak on pain and give you true solace, or to tell you it will get better. My experience with love has been ruthless." He takes a moment to gather his thoughts as the fire pops and crackles.
"You are different from me in this. You are young. You still feel love for her, and for certain will feel this for another. In time, this bitterness you feel will change to sweetness." His two inseparables smile and nod to this.
D'Artangnan begins to blink slowly and Athos feels his body relax into him completely. This is the weight of coming sleep.
"No more talk. Rest is what we need. Tomorrow we ride for home."
And just like that, he gives up the battle to remain wakeful, and breathes softly, "Constance."
The End.