Written for the Comte's declaration of a Rat Race.
Her challenge: the moment Athos realizes Morduant is his son (The timeline for this doesn't actually work out, I think, but it's a hypothesis I had when I first read 20 Years Later), and I've always wondered how that would turn out) (Genre: hurt/comfort).
AN: I know that the timeline doesn't match but it was a really fun idea to write for. I hope I did not disappoint you Comte! Furthermore, this story is unbeta-ed. If you find any mistakes let me know, it will be greatly appreciated.
Shards of Glass
He knew just by looking at the young man that there was something familar about him, perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was Anne's son and he still loved the woman despite her being dead for all these years, despite the knowledge that she had murdered so many. However, he could not shake the feeling that there was more to the story than Mordaunt being the son of the woman he had fallen in love with and married first. It was his eyes, so dark, like that of the La Fère's- that shade of blue seemed to be prominent in his family. Perhaps it was his nose, the way it reminded him of his own mother and how it gently sloped down and how it looked so delicate, even on this young man whose path seemed locked on the same one as Anne's. A path that would only end in destruction and Athos wanted to prevent that as much as possible, because if his suspicions were true, he was not only the father of one child but two.
"Olivier, I have great news to tell you," Anne said a week before everything began going south for him. Her smile was big that day and she put everything to shame with her glow and beauty. Her blonde curls bounced more than usual and he had found that she looked more like an angel sent from heaven than an actual woman who lived upon this earth with him. Her blue eyes looked so alive with happiness that he had felt a smile tug at his lips.
She never had the chance to tell him just what that great news was because in the days leading up to the greatest disaster in his life, he found himself busy with the lifestyle of a count that he figured that what she had to tell him could wait. What would another week be? They had the rest of their lives for telling each other great news didn't they?
How wrong he was, for on the day that he actually found the time to spend with his wife ended in tragedy for both of them.
It ended in tragedy for all of us. Athos thought as he gazed upon the face of Mordaunt, relishing in the fact that this was in fact the son of Anne, the one that she had kept hidden... even when she was put on trial and sentenced to death.
Were her last thoughts of him? Athos wondered as he kept his eyes on the young man in front of him. Was she in pain when she realised she would never see him grow up? Why hadn't she told him about Mordaunt? Athos was a lot of things but he was not a man to tear a mother from her son so cruelly... especially when the child was his.
His eyes widened at this thought. Was it possible? Could this man in front of him, the one who was so intent on killing him for revenge for what he did to his mother be the son born to him by Anne? He looked so remarkably alike to Athos and to the La Fère's that it was as if he were looking upon a younger version of his father. Though Anne was there as well, he could see that by the shape of Mordaunt's eyes and his mouth, even his hair was that of Anne's; while dark it still bore of her trademark curls and he had his mother's hands, bigger obviously but still hers.
Why didn't she tell him that a child existed? Was she terrifed that he would hunt down this child like he did her and have him killed? Athos heart cried out to the young man who had grown up to hate him so much and wondered if he could make amends; deep down he knew that wouldn't happen. How could it? When the boy despised him so much that he wanted to tear him apart limb by limb and make him suffer the same way his mother did before she died?
"Look at how the mighty have fallen," sneered Mordaunt, his voice cold and full of a deep hatred that came deep from his heart. His words made Athos wince because he knew that this man's hatred was directed at him more so than his friends.
His gaze left the face of the son he never knew he had and went to d'Artagnan who had been captured after the ensuing battle between Mordaunt and the rest of the men that had viewed the four Frenchmen as enemies. The forty year old musketeer had been relieved of his weapons, a feat that wasn't made easy for the men who had set upon him like hounds on a rabbit; d'Artagnan had put up a fight and a big one. Completely expected of a musketeer used to battle because to lose your weapons to an enemy meant you were completely helpless to defend yourself and could mean certain death.
Mordaunt's eyes went from Athos to d'Artagnan when he realised that the attention was no longer on him but on another and he smirked to the point that Athos felt sickened by it.
"They say that you love d'Artagnan as if he were your own." Mordaunt moved closer to d'Artagnan and Athos saw his friend stiffen. He knew that those dark brown eyes were on the young man in front of him, watching his every move, waiting with a cat like patience for Mordaunt to make a mistake, in which he would seize his chance and pounce. Athos knew his friend enough to know what exactly he was going through his mind and just because he was disarmed and his sword was in the hands of another in the dark, filthy room they were in, didn't make him inept.
Just the opposite as a matter of fact. Athos thought with some amusement and pride for d'Artagnan. He had seen the man in enough battles, both on the battlefield and off of it to know that the musketeer had learned a few tricks that could make his enemies wish that they had never crossed him.
"I think that I'll start off with him," said Mordaunt as his hand reached out to stroke d'Artagnan's cheek and his gesture mocked the fatherly love that Athos had for his friend that he began to hate the very ground that Mordaunt walked on. "You'll feel all the pain that your little son will go through, each cry of pain will pierce your heart like a thousand daggers and I'll keep you alive so you can hear them in your every waking hour and when you sleep you'll be haunted by them. That will be my revenge on you- to make you suffer like I have all this time."
"And if you do that, I'll tear you apart piece by piece," Athos said between clenched teeth and his voice sounded so low and so dangerous that both d'Artagnan and Mordaunt stared at him. "I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth, no matter how long it takes."
"You're not exactly a good father," Mordaunt taunted him, the dark blue in his eyes had turned into the same shade of Anne's in a flash and Athos found himself hating her as much as he did the man standing in front of him. "Is that anyway to treat your son?"
"I recognise no son of mine except for the one that I raised myself," Athos said defiantly as d'Artagnan's eyes widened in shock at this revelation, though the look of surprise vanished rather quickly, replaced by a cold acceptance that forced his heart to almost stop with the pain of what his friend must think of him now. "You are your mother's son, that devil woman who ruined my life and is still haunting me from beyond the grave. You are her son, not mine."
Mordaunt's eyes became dark and for a moment Athos wondered if the young man had decided to give up in all of this. Perhaps what he had said shone a light on his mother and told him that she was evil and that quite possibly, she had murdered more people than he would achieve in his lifetime. Might he be hopeful of one miracle? Just one that might allow this madness to end?
His question was answered when Mordaunt snarled in rage and to Athos who was kneeling nearby, he looked like a wolf that was about to attack. The young man withdrew a large knife from out of nowhere and advanced upon d'Artagnan who was only two steps away from him, he looked possessed- his eyes were wide like that of his mother's when she had realised that Athos knew her secret all those years ago that he thought he was looking at her. He watched in horror as the knife was lowered and to him it felt as if he were watching in slow motion.
He screamed for d'Artagnan just as the musketeer's leg lashed out at the feet of Mordaunt, making purchase with what he aimed for, they both watched Mordaunt topple over. The knife that had been in his hand moments before slid across the dirty floor past him just as Mordaunt's scream of rage pierced his eardrums.
"Athos," D'Artagnan yelled, his voice rang out through the crowd of men that suddenly appeared in the room. Two seconds later, the sound of swords clashing together echoed around the dark room and forced Athos to look up. Somehow, d'Artagnan managed to loosen the rope that had bound his hands behind his back and had jumped up, surprising the man that held his sword with a swift punch to the face. The moment he grabbed the sword, he engaged the men that had entered the room to see what was going on.
Athos hastened to release himself from the bonds that held him. The knife that had previously been in Mordaunt's possession gleamed near the wall and Athos threw himself to the side and began to awkwardly push himself towards it.
He knew that d'Artagnan would not be able to fight all these men on his own and that he would either be set upon and forced back into the restraints or he would be killed on the spot. Either way, Athos knew that the musketeer would be killed, if not by the men who were in the room but by Mordaunt himself and Athos would not be able to live with himself if his friend were to die in this filthy little hideaway.
He grunted with the effort, he was nearly there. He would be out of his binds in no time and would be able to fight these men and save them both. He focused his mind on one thing: get to the knife. The only person that he thought of was d'Artagnan, fighting those men by himself and who would be overwhelmed by it quickly. Even though his friend was a skilled swordsman, there was only so far one could go before losing their strength and Athos was intent on not allowing that to happen. He would not be able to bear it if d'Artagnan was killed for being blamed for a mistake he had not made.
A cry of pain echoed in his eardrums and his breath quickened as he paused and listened. Mordaunt laughed cruelly somewhere behind him and d'Artagnan's anguished shout ripped through the air and pierced him as if it were a sword.
"Athos!" The fighting sounded as if it were getting more and more desperate and at the last second, when the shadow of Mordaunt appeared in front of him on the wall did he realise just what was happening. He felt himself being hauled to his feet and had his hair yanked back so that he was looking up into Mordaunt's face.
"Going somewhere are you?" Mordaunt asked angrily. He was bleeding from the side of his head and Athos hoped that it was d'Artagnan who had given him that wound because the bastard deserved it. "Allowing your friend to do all the fighting while you crawl away like a coward? I already knew you to be a coward, always envisioned you to be the one crawling away. What I didn't think was that it would be so difficult to kill you."
Athos thought quickly and realised that there was only one way he could join d'Artagnan and fight with him and that was by challenging Mordaunt to a duel, whether the man would fall for his tricks was a question that he could not answer until he tried it out.
"You call yourself my son when you won't even allow a man to fight you properly." Athos head and neck began to hurt as Mordaunt yanked back his head further. "I think we all know who the coward is here. Everybody in this room knows it but they won't say it to your face because they know you will have them killed the same way you killed the others."
Mordaunt said nothing and instead pushed him away violently, Athos' shoulder hit the wall and he grunted in pain but he continued to speak and with each word his voice rose.
"If you're my son then start acting like one! I would train you to be a proper gentleman and all the mannerisms of defending your honour like one. If you are truly my son, you wouldn't stand there like a coward who gets others to fight your battle for you and you certainly won't be treating those who you wish to fight in this way." the sound of d'Artagnan's sharp cry of pain distracted Athos enough for him to look behind Mordaunt. He had to hurry if he wanted to save them both because d'Artagnan seemed to be losing this battle and they both would find themselves at the mercy of Mordaunt and his men.
Three men lay either wounded or dead in the room and Athos had no intention on allowing himself or d'Artagnan to join them. He focused his attention on Mordaunt hoping to distract the son he never knew existed until that very day as his bound hands sought out the knife that he knew was nearby.
"Why are you being such a coward?" Athos asked and he stared so intently up on Mordaunt that the man actually looked away. His hand hit the hilt of the knife and he grabbed it, cutting wildly at the rope that bound his hands together. He didn't wince whenever the knife bit into the skin of his hand and wrist, he was intent on destroying Mordaunt for good. "Any son of mine wouldn't be standing there allowing his men to show more backbone than he himself would. Look at them, they are fighting the great d'Artagnan and as they have discovered, he is a force to be reckoned with. You in the meantime have done nothing but watch them and who seems content on watching them fall from each stroke of d'Artagnan's sword."
From the look on Mordaunt's face, he knew he only had about a few minutes before the viper did anything more... to either him or to his friend that was fighting a losing battle. He cut through the final piece of rope but did not dare to move.
Let him think that I am still bound so I can surprise him. He thought to himself as Mordaunt looked over his shoulder at the ensuing battle behind him uncertainly.
"I have great news to tell you Olivier." The words were said to him in soft monotones, almost as if they were whispered to him and for a moment he thought he could see Anne in front of him. A huge smile on her face and her blue eyes alive with laughter but when he blinked the apparition was gone and he was left with Mordaunt and his evil smirk. In his hand was a belt that had been around his waist and he moved towards Athos as if he were in a trance, his eyes wide like a cat when it catches sight of a mouse that came out of its hiding hole.
He reacted without thinking and grabbed the hilt of the knife tightly in his right hand. He rolled quickly to his feet and swung the knife quickly, his eyes were on the face of the young man who was so evil and corrupted that he couldn't possibly become a normal man and when the knife slashed at the side of the viper's face and didn't stop until he had reached partway down the neck, he didn't feel any remorse.
As a matter of fact, the moment that Mordaunt fell, Athos felt nothing more than relief. At last the horror was over- the ghost of his past was finally dead, no longer able to haunt him anymore.
"You wonder why we killed your mother," Athos said bitterly as Mordaunt lay on the ground bleeding at his feet. "It was because she was as evil as you are. She may not have deserved what I did to her when we were married in Berry but she deserved to die for her sins and you are going to join her now."
He turned his back on the son that Anne had given to him and turned his attention to the men that were in Mordaunt's army and with d'Artagnan at his side, fought his way to freedom.
In the aftermath of what happened, Athos discovered just how much d'Artagnan meant to him. His friend had fought with distinction beside him in battles, both in the past when they had been young men all the way to the present. It amazed him just how much the musketeer could take on in a daily basis and when he brushed off the latest battle wounds as if they were nothing more than cuts and scrapes one gets when they are cut by glass, his admiration grew.
Another thing that Athos greatly admired about d'Artagnan was the fact that he knew when to keep silent and never once discussed what had took place in Mordaunt's house of horrors and Athos greatly appreciated that.
However, there came a day when Athos could no longer contain himself and he found that his grief about everything in his life had hurt him as if they were long shards of glass that he always walked over. No matter what he did in his life and how happy the memories after Anne became, he always found that he came to the same door in the end. Whether he opened it or treaded by carefully, the results were always the same and he found that no matter what the memories of Anne came flooding back to haunt him. Added to this torture was the face of the son he never knew about and the one that had hated him with such intensity that it caused so much damage.
"Perhaps if I knew about him." Athos found himself saying to d'Artagnan whilst they were passing by an English town in search of Aramis, Porthos and their servants. "I would have taken him in and would have raised him right. If Anne had told me about his existence and if I acted like a father should, maybe none of this would have happened."
D'Artagnan frowned, his dark eyes upon him and Athos knew that his friend was troubled because in his eyes was the same look that had been in them when he had discovered that Milady and the woman in Athos' story was the same person. "Do you think that it would have changed anything? He would have found out one way or another that you were responsible for his mother's death, along with his uncle and three of your friends. Nothing would have changed the outcome of this at all because he would have had memories of his mother and obviously those memories are not as bad as ours, he has the good memories of Milady and he wouldn't have understood why you had her killed. The results, my friend, would be tragic. He would of had you killed either way."
"He would have had you killed as well," said Athos and his voice sounded so pained that d'Artagnan looked sideways at him. "Who knew that the past can come back into your present with a vengeance."
"The past is always intertwined in our present," d'Artagnan said wisely. "However it is up to us to learn from it and to put it behind us the moment we get the chance. The future is always the brightest when you look into it."
"When I made the decision to end the life of the woman who had caused us so much pain, I didn't think that anything like this would have happened." Athos wasn't looking anywhere near d'Artagnan now. "I suppose I was only seeking my own revenge for what this woman did to me that I wasn't thinking of any of the consequences. I am sorry for bringing you into this whole thing..."
"She murdered Constance," d'Artagnan interrupted him. "I wanted to be there for the sentencing of this woman, I wouldn't of had it any other way. It was either she was killed justifiably or I hunted her down myself and had her butchered on the spot. I would have done it in front of the Cardinal if I knew she sought him out for protection."
Athos opened up his mouth to speak but d'Artagnan held up his hand and continued on. "We should leave the past in the past, my friend. It doesn't help to always ponder it and wonder what will happen next, we always need to move forward so we don't fall into a hole in which we can never climb out again because once we fall into that hole we will be constantly haunted by memories of what should have been and what could have been. It isn't good for us and will only cause us to not live life to the fullest, especially if we are hindered by those thoughts."
"Have you moved on from Constance?" Athos asked his friend and for the first time since he had met up with his friend again he took the time to study him intently. He saw his friend tense up, his face become stony but as quickly as they appeared, they quickly vanished. D'Artagnan's face became expressionless and he knew that his friend hadn't moved on from the death of his lover at all.
"She is always on my mind and has never left me at all," he said at last, his voice was filled with emotion. "I have loved a woman after her, she is my innkeeper... she is a handsome woman but she isn't nearly as beautiful as Constance. Have you moved on from that woman?"
"Anne?" Athos asked him softly. "No, I haven't moved on from her either. I loved her, I thought that she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. I always think of her because I think that my sins are far greater than hers ever were. I earned her hatred as easily as I earned her son's hatred of me and I deserve it all."
"He's your son," d'Artagnan said quietly, finally uttering the words that Athos knew he was dying to speak. "I am sure he doesn't hate you as much as you think he does. A little lost maybe but I don't think that he deserves your hatred as much as he gives you his."
For a couple of minutes they rode in silence, each man in their own thoughts. Finally d'Artagnan spoke, his voice firm and full of command.
"I don't think he's dead, Athos." He gazed sideways at him with a small troubled frown on his face. "I think that he was only injured in your attack and will attack with a vengeance and when he does, you need to be ready. You need to make a decision quickly when that time comes and whatever it is, you will always have me to back you up."
Athos smiled despite himself, he would deal with Mordaunt when the time came. Right now, however, he was focused on living out the rest of his life the way he wanted to and enjoying it with his best friend at his side.
"I know you will." Athos said as he spurred the horse he was riding into a gallop and headed in the direction of the next town, d'Artagnan's eyes widened when he recognised the sudden playfulness in his tone. "Until that time comes though, let us enjoy the countryside and perhaps a little race to help us unwind. We best hurry up, who knows what trouble Aramis and Porthos have gotten themselves into. It might be twenty years after but those two have not changed in the slightest!"