a/n: This plot came to me while I was waiting to watch the Princess Bride for the first time, and yes, I realize that they aren't all the similar (I think).
Summary: AU. Constance accepted the fate of an arranged marriage to a man she had never met before, but she can't help but run away with her heart when she meets a young Gascon man called d'Artagnan. Will the marriage go through, or is the call of true love stronger than that of family duty?(a/n: for this fic, Lupiac is a short distance outside of Paris, perhaps 4-5 hours.)
Pairing: {Constagnan} = Constance/d'Artagnan!
Translations (French/English): mon amour - My Love & père - Father
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
~ "Tea" Love ~
Part 1
xx . tM - Mt . xx
Constance stared out the open-shuttered window into the beautiful morning light. It was well into summer and the grounds stretched before her window vibrant and full — and familiar. She wouldn't see them much, or at all soon. She'd be gone from here...
There was a gentle knock at the door, though it startled her as much as if the person had banged on it with a fist. "Constance?" a male voice called.
She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her. "Come." She called.
Two men stepped into her apartments and closed the door behind them, bowing their heads at her respectfully. She gave a soft smile at the gesture.
The older of the two, a brown-haired, blue-eyed man with a scar at his upper lip and a usual pensive atmosphere took a step forward. "The carriage has arrived, Miss."
Constance nodded. She'd known that already, even if she hadn't been able to see it from this particular window which faced the back of the house, she could feel it twist deep in her gut. She made no move, but her hands clenched at one another.
The second man, with dark-hair that tended to curl a bit at the end when it got on the longer side, chestnut-coloured eyes, and flirtatious aura, couldn't stand to let her suffer in silence. He stepped past his companion and to Constance, taking her clenched hands in his sword-calloused palms. He ducked his head to catch her eye and gave the young woman a soft smile.
"Everything will be alright, Constance," he murmured familiarly.
"Aramis!" she gasped, her anxiety finally spilling over in the safe hold of the man she considered a trusted friend, despite the fact that his position dictated he not be. "I don't know if I can do this!"
"You can," he told her firmly. "I know you. You are a strong and brave woman."
"But I do not even know who he is! How can I..."
"Deep breath. One step at a time, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chided her gently. "You are meeting Lord Bonacieux today, that is all. You'll be yourself, and he'll love you. He will charm you — and you will come to love him. Hm?"
Constance did as instructed and too a deep breath, Aramis' gaze held hers, an anchor in her swirling emotions. "It's just tea — for the rest of my life."
"Tea is not such a bad thing," Aramis said, "And do not forget, we will always be at your side." He glanced back at Athos.
"Yes." She knew she could always count on these two men. Aramis had been one of her protectors for the past five years, and the other man, nearly ten. They were her father's men, but they were like family to her.
Aramis was her comfort and her dreamings.
Athos was her steadfast and her reality.
"Let us hope this taste pleases, Miss." The older man murmured, not wishing to be rude, but hurry things along — it would not due to be late.
"Yes, Athos. Let us hope." Her voice was sad, but she was resolved as she lifted her chin and released Aramis' comforting hold. "Time to meet my Husband."
She led the way out of her rooms, Aramis and Athos following behind at a respectful distance, an always present shield.
"You should not encourage such notions inside of her." Athos quietly.
"Oh, Athos." Aramis sighed, "You never know, she might actually like Bonacieux."
He scoffed at the notion. "She might never had met him, but I have. What was the Captain thinking?"
"Not every marriage has to end such as yours." Aramis countered, feeling a flare of ire at his friend's unchanged feelings.
Athos' shoulders stiffened slightly at the unwelcome mention of his past. "That is neither here, nor there." He responded coldly.
Aramis sighed sadly, there was no talking to the man when he was like this.
Their conversation would have had to come to a halt anyhow as they arrived at the awaiting carriage, where Treville held his daughter into the carriage with a tight and albeit guilty expression, before climbing in after. The two Musketeers mounted their steeds. There would be time later, right now, it was Constance that was his worry.
xx . tM - Mt . xx
"Hyah!" the slender, olive-skinned young man of nineteen struck at his bigger opponent, sweat tangled bangs in his eyes.
The taller, broader, dark-skinned man laughed as he easily blocked the strike of his rapier, and with a 'pat' on the shoulder, sent the Gascon sprawling in the dirt.
"Calling out your strike will always put you opponent on guard, Charles." The man told the younger, his gleaming rapier blade resting casually on his shoulder.
"I told you not to call me that, Porthos!" he protested from the ground.
"Porthos is all I have left of m' mother, there ain't nothin' wrong with Charles, lad."
"I want to be called d'Artagnan!" he leapt to his feet and gave his brother a puppy-dog pout.
"I ain't no woman you can flash those eyes an' tha' face at, and call ye whatever you want." Porthos said. "It'll take at little more than that!"
"You're not my type." d'Artagnan made a face at him. "You be called Charles for a bit, and then come talk to me."
"Your mother gave you that name, you should be proud." Alexandre walked up to the two younger men, a traveling cloak around his shoulders.
d'Artagnan sighed. "I love mother... but why did she have to pick the most boring and pretentious name in France?" Charles was proud of his family name, so why shouldn't he wear it?
"She wanted you to have a grand life, that's why." He returned in a tone that only a father could. "Now get cleaned up, the both of you, we don't want to be late for Market."
"Yes, sir!" both chimed.
Alexandre gave them a long suffering sigh. Sometimes, it felt like he still had two adolescents. The old man waited until both were from sight before he allowed the cough to wrack his body, it wouldn't do to needlessly worry his lads.
The d'Artagnans were landlord and owner of three-quarters of the farms in Lupiac that surrounded a distance outside of Paris. Though they over-saw the rest of the lands, they lived and worked on their own piece of property. After Alexandre's wife died of fever, it was just him and his three-year-old son, Charles, left to tend the farm. After a young lad of thirteen tried to pick his pocket, instead of handing the boy to the Red Guard, he showed no malice but kindness and decided to take the lad on at the farm to assist him. Porthos has been like a son to him since, and a big brother to Charles.
Not fifteen minutes later, both were cleaned up and ready for the trip into the city. There was a brief scuffle for the spot on the bench seat up front with Alexandre, but as always seemed the case, Porthos won out and d'Artagnan was left to sulk propped on the edge of the back of the wagon for the uncomfortable and bumpy five-hour ride.
xx . tM - Mt . xx
Tomorrow, the announcement would be plastered in the papers — her engagement to Bonacieux. It could have gone worse, she imagined, but then again she had nothing to compare it to.
She was allowed the small mercy of being allowed to stay at her home, the only place she had ever known for her entire twenty-years, until the wedding. As soon as the I-Will's were spoken, she'd have a new home and a new life until death let them part... To a man she'd met for the first time mere hours ago.
Needing to bask in something she knew, something that was always the same but in the same moment, something new. She knew just the place. After returning from tea and lunch with Bonacieux, Constance had spoken at length with her father in respects to her husband-to-be, but now she needed the space and comfort to think and process it herself.
This was familiar ground, the Market, just what she needed to get back on her feet.
The crowded force of Paris itself.
Athos hung back a few paces behind her, but ever the mother hen, Aramis made no hesitation in walking beside her.
She looped her arm through his and took comfort in his solid and familiar presence at her side. She was glad that at least that would not be taken away, Treville had been adamant that Aramis and Athos be allowed to stay with her.
He smiled at her. "Was the tea to your liking?" he asked her gently.
She sighed. "Perhaps it is an acquired taste? — it is too soon to tell."
"Well, tell me what you thought of the man, at least." He encouraged.
She thought. "He was handsome enough, I suppose. Indignant. Very clumsy..."
"Any man would be, seeing you for the first time and all times thereafter."
She gave his arm a light smack on the arm. "Stop that!"
"If I didn't, would you run away with me?"
"You're such a flirt!" she scolded, but smiled. "What a scandal that would be! If you're not careful, sir, I might do just that to teach you a lesson."
"I would be the best of students, Madam." He gave her a little mock bow. "Attentive. Eager —"
"I truly wished you two would behave," Athos finally said from behind them, his tone was defeated though. He didn't know why he said anything anymore, it was like speaking to a pair of leaves in the wind with these two, like a pair of gossiping women!
Aramis said over his shoulder, "Spoken like a true third-wheel."
And Athos just gave him a withering look.
Aramis looked back at her in all seriousness. "Continue,"
"I know why father must do this," she said. "I know why I must do this — He is why. I know that this isn't what he wanted for me, and if I told him that I just couldn't do it, he would find a way to break the engagement. But I just can't do that to daddy."
"You are the kindest and most self-sacrificing woman I know, Constance. Bonacieux just doesn't know how lucky he is."
"Aramis, you flatter me." She shook her head.
"I want nothing in return for my words... unless it's for you to hold my favour over Athos'." Aramis mock whispered to her, giving her a wink.
"You are a ruthless one." She remarked, glancing behind her at Athos, who remained stoic in the face of Aramis' 'confession', able to suss out the Spaniard in a second.
The press of bodies was finally a noticeable thing.
"What's happening?" Constance wondered as the trio was forced to stop by a gathering clog in the street.
Athos stopped at her other side, peering through the crowd. "It appears to a stuck cart, Miss."
"Get this damn wagon out of th' way, old man!" they heard the man's shout over the murmurings of the crowd, proving the Musketeer correct.
The crowd thinned a bit, to show the cart with an old man sitting on the bench seat and two men at the front wheel and the third, the owner of the previous shout.
The youngest lad snapped at the man. ""Hey, do not speak to my father that way!"
"Easy, gentlemen —" the old man tried to placate them.
"Ignore them." Said the tall, dark-skinned man offhandedly. "'E's just some drunk tryin' to cause trouble."
"What did you — you Gacon inbreeds, lookit your skin like the scum under m' boots!"
"Uh-oh." Aramis muttered, knowing that wasn't going to go over well with said Gascons. He glanced at Athos, who shared the look, clearly coming to the same conclusion.
"Can't you do something?" Constance asked her two companions in concern, "Before a fight breaks out?"
Aramis looked over at Athos, who had a calculating look on his face, seeing whether it would be such a risk to leave Constance unattended for the moment. Finally, he gave a small nod of his head to his partner. "Stay here, Miss. We'll be back in a moment."
Constance nodded and waited by a stall stalked with all manor of trinkets, catching her interest.
"Prepare to take leave of your tongue, and then you will taste the true scum under my boots!" the young man said hotly, his rapier already partially drawn as the man beside him gripped his shoulder roughly, trying to prevent him from doing something stupid.
"Hey, you lot!" A Red Guard managed to make it there before the two Musketeers. "Clear this path, you're blocking traffic!"
The old man quickly tried to appease. "Apologies! But our wheel seems to have twisted. With a little assistance, I'm sure —"
"Just get it done!"
"Maybe if you helped us!" The dark man snapped, his control fraying.
"Help you? That's not my job, gutter pig."
The young man's fire switched targets in a blink "Red Scum!"
"Why you — !"
"Everything under control here?" Athos questioned, the poster boy for calm and collected. The man who was causing the trouble in the first place, upon the appearance of the two Musketeers, in lieu of the Red Gauad, backed off and vanished pretty quick.
The Red Guard glared at him. "What business is this of yours, Musketeer?"
Aramis was glad enough to stay quiet and act as a silent back-up, observing this interesting trio.
"Not truly my business, per say." Athos allowed casually. "But it wouldn't do to have a brawl in the middle of Market, would it? Would it not be wise for all parties to come to a peaceful conclusion — the other gentleman seems to have agreed," he purposefully looked around, "Apparently he had other business."
The guard looked positively irked as he just realized himself that the other man had vanished. "Everybody, back to your business! Nothing to see here!" the Red Guard scathed at the thinned crowd (most of whom had already lost interest), angry at being shown up by a Musketeer.
Aramis grinned at his friend.
"Might we be of assistance, sir?" Athos asked politely.
"Alexandre, my good man." The old man introduced, stepping down from the bench.
"Is everything sorted, then, gentlemen?" Constance enquired politely, having come over to the group at seeing the man and Red Guard go onto other business.
"Oh, Miss. You are too kind, too kind!" Alexandre claimed, bowing as much as his back would allow to her.
She smiled at him. "Your cart appears to be stuck, Monsieur. Perhaps with Aramis and Athos' help, everything will be sorted." She gave said pair a raised brow, not above using them for manual labour, it appeared.
"That would be very much obliged, ma'am."
With a nod to Aramis, he and Athos moved into position with d'Artagnan and Porthos around the cart, and with a count, lifted, un-sticking the wheel.
"'Preciate th' hand, fellas!" Porthos said cheerfully, clapping both men on the back.
"My sons, Porthos and — " d'Artagnan gave Alexandre a lightning fast look, but the father saw it anyways and gave an internal sigh, humouring the young man, "d'Artagnan."
Porthos rolled his eyes at that, but did say a word, but when they god back to the farm, the lad was open for teasing.
d'Artagnan gave her an almost sweeping bow, briefly taking her hand. "My Lady."
"Constance Treville," she nodded, suddenly overtaken as the young man straightened and caught her with the most beautiful brown eyes. "It was a pleasure," she said hurriedly, "And we won't keep you from you business any longer, gentlemen."
d'Artagnan was left staring after her, struck — their departure rather sudden.
"That's a proper lady there, d'Artagnan." Porthos wrapped an arm around the lad's narrow shoulders. "Not for the likes of us simple folk."
Porthos expected a speak-for-yourself, but d'Artagnan made no response as he extracted himself from the man's hold, walking along-side the cart as Alexandre kicked the mules into pace. He knew his brother was right, but there was still a part of him that dreamed and hoped...
"What an interesting family," Constance murmured to herself on the walk home, finding it all to easy to picture the dashing young Gascon man.
Aramis shared a look with Athos at the whispered remark. It was too early to know, but never to suspect.
xx . tM - Mt . xx
"So, brother, was she to your liking?" Milday asked, coming into the study after said woman and her two handsome guards left.
Bonacieux looked rather pleased with himself. "Enchanting! Simply enchanting! I believe I'm already in love, sister."
She narrowed her eyes as she came to stand in front of him.
"She didn't seem to be." She remarked casually.
Bonacieux sat up straight. "She will be. She has to be." He looked at her. "Constance will be my wife, Treville needs for this marriage to happen or he will be in ruins. Whether he likes it or not, he needs my support if he's to keep the Musketeers. If she does not love me now, she will come to in time. Once were are married — "
She came around and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing against him. "She will, brother. And the Captain will not go back on his word, I promise you."
He sighed and leaned back against her. "What would I do without you, sister?"
"Hmm." She chuckled softly and kissed his temple, the gears behind her lizard eyes turning and working.
She didn't see anything happening from then to the wedding, but she would keep an eye on things. If their family where to have a firmer foothold in Paris, these nuptials were going to happen. Her mother had fought to make a name for herself in Paris, and marrying Bonacieux's father gave her that. Though Milady was not a Bonacieux by blood, she was attached by marriage and she wasn't about to give up her position without a fight.
But she'd keep an eye on things herself, just in case — she'd be ready and waiting. Being caught off guard was not to her liking at all.
[tbc]
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
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