Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexandre Dumas.
This is a definite AU set in the late 18th century. There will be tweaking of historical facts but effort will be made to keep the timeline and major events straight wherever possible. By the reign of Louis XVI, the King's musketeers had long ceased to exist in the form as portrayed by Dumas.
Chapter 1
14 July 1789, Paris
The summer heat was always oppressive in the city of Paris. The citizens suffered and grumbled amidst the stench from the Seine, which was akin to that of a stagnant cesspit. Constance's current condition only caused her to suffer more and she was pale and wan. Still, D'Artagnan could not help but beam with happiness when he considered his wife and their unborn child. Constance was nearing her time. He had prepared the nursery in the top room of their townhouse in Paris, above the miasma of foul air which plagued the city on most days. Perhaps with careful saving and a few more years in the musketeer corps, he would be able to buy a house in the countryside with sprawling gardens for their children to gambol in. He almost regretted his decision to sell off the family farm after his parents passed on, but Constance did not take well to life in Gascony. Being city-bred, she had no idea how to run a farm in his absence.
They had seen Porthos off the day before. Their friend was sailing for a new life in the colonies in the company of a merry widow from Marseilles he met during their last mission together. Athos had returned to his estates in Normandy to spend more time tending to his lands and in the company of his son. He'd miss having Athos and Porthos around in Paris. Then there was Aramis. D'Artagnan's brow furrowed at the thought of the former musketeer. Aramis had always been the intellectual one in their company. He had once pondered a career in the clergy before deciding against it. Aramis then fell in with a group of intellectuals. In Aramis' company, D'Artagnan had attended one of those discussions at the local coffeehouse once. He could not grasp the arguments put forward by the speakers. He was a simple man with simple concerns – serving the king and France while eking out a living and providing for his family.
The entire musketeer corps was both scandalized and shocked when Aramis left them and promptly signed on as a clerk for the Duke of Orleans, better known as Philippe Egalite. Everyone knew the Orleanists were in conflict with their royal master. Then he made the acquaintance of some firebrands which D'Artagnan did not trust one bit. Aramis continued living in Paris. D'Artagnan had seen his friend the other day in the street.
"Change is happening, D'Artagnan… perhaps it will be sooner than we think…"
"Aramis, I do not like this at all."
Some of the speeches and pamphlets making the rounds bordered on slander. Though D'Artagnan had to admit that Her Majesty might be too fond of a certain Swede and His Majesty sometimes lacked the determination and charisma of his predecessors. Louis XV had left behind a country teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. The war in the Americas did not help either. Porthos and Athos had seen action in that war as young soldiers. Athos deplored the excesses of his fellow nobles after inheriting the title of Comte after his elder brothers were taken by smallpox. Porthos' decision to leave France might have been triggered by the vista of opportunities in the Americas for a man like him. Perhaps Aramis was right. Something was wrong with France…
"I think she just kicked me…" Constance's voice cut into his thoughts. She rubbed her very swollen belly. She had her feet resting on a cushioned footstool as she fanned herself. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face.
"It might be a boy," D'Artagnan could not resist teasing her. "Or perhaps it will be both. They might be twins…"
"Please help me get the best china… The Beauforts will be coming for dinner later… The top shelf…" Constance scowled slightly. She was in no mood for teasing. Her current condition had forced her to leave her post as Her Majesty's lady-in-waiting. D'Artagnan knew that she might be missing all the constant parties and entertainments of Versailles. There was little to do in their modest home for entertainment now that she was so huge playing the harpsichord was difficult. He nodded and started up the stepladder to reach the top shelf of their cupboard.
The bustle of activity from the street had been building like a hive of agitated bees all morning, but the D'Artagnans paid it little heed. Now the tumult rose again amidst the torturous heat of the day. Voices were raised in anger and frustration at petitions ignored, heavy taxations and other injustices perceived. Constance waddled over to the open window for some air. Perhaps it was then that the spark was lit, or the smouldering ember of resentment had taken flame earlier. D'Artagnan was blissfully unaware, until he heard the screams and the sound of muskets fired in the street.
"Constance! Get away from the window!" he shouted as he scrambled down the step ladder, carelessly smashing their best china on the floor as he did so. The commotion sounded dangerously close. Constance stayed by the window as if stunned. D'Artagnan hurried to his wife's side…
"Mattie! Get a doctor! Hurry!" he screamed for their maid. The front of his wife's dress was stained red. The maid hurried to the parlour where they were, took one look at her stricken mistress and ran like a hare for the doctor.
"Constance, please… no…" D'Artagnan pleaded as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from her pierced throat. Perhaps it was musket shot or a stray pistol ball. It did not matter. His wife fought to breathe, speak but she choked on the blood rapidly flooding her throat…
That day the citizens of Paris laid siege to the Bastille and the proud fortress fell. D'Artagnan plunged into the depths of despair.
21 Jan 1793, Paris
Aramis sighed. It was never supposed to end this way. The King is dead. Long live the King… He silently regarded the corpse laid out in its coffin. Louis XVI had never been much of a character in life. In death, he just looked almost pathetic. He never believed they would actually go through with the execution. How the people were said to have wept and then rushed to soak their handkerchiefs in his blood! They would bury him, of course… but who would succeed him? The dauphin was a young boy. Perhaps it would be the Duke of Orleans who would ascend the throne… Or perhaps there would be no king, like in the former English colonies of the Americas.
Most nobles had fled France by now, but not Athos. Aramis heard recent whispers of a royalist army gathering in the north, waiting their chance to free the royal family. He would not be surprised if Athos was among them. Well, they're too late to save Louis XVI. It was almost a blessing D'Artagnan was no longer on French soil. Aramis had pulled a few strings to help Athos send their friend over to England. Then there was poor Porthos…
"Citizen Ernst!" Aramis called out to the tavern-keeper. Ernst Defarge nodded in a terse greeting. The tavern was almost empty at this hour.
"Have you seen Citizen Porthos?" The man nodded in the direction of the darkest corner of his establishment.
"Have a care for your friend, citizen. He is deep in his cups, if they should hear him… It's prison or worse…" Ernst warned as he passed Aramis. Porthos barely looked up at Aramis' approach. Lady Luck had chosen to abandon Porthos upon his landing in the New World. First, a tropical fever carried off his wife and infant son. Then his coffee crop failed and he was bankrupted. Having no means to make his way in the colonies, Porthos became a sailor on a merchantman bound for France with the aim of re-joining the musketeers. Upon his arrival in Marseilles, he found the France he knew no longer existed. The musketeers were disbanded. Their captain de Treville was killed by the mob when they marched on Versailles herself. Porthos had almost been reduced to begging when Aramis found him and gave him a job.
"What happened, Aramis? They've killed him… How am I to tell them?"
"They'll hear of it soon enough, though not from you… someone else will tell them," Aramis sat down facing his friend. Perhaps it was a mistake getting Porthos a job as a prison guard, especially now that the members of the royal family languished in the same prison where he worked. Porthos always had a soft spot for children and both the dauphin and his sister were very young.
Nantes
His Majesty was dead. Athos regarded the latest piece of news Grimaud brought from the market sourly. Things were grim for him and any nobleman still lingering on French soil. Raoul must be sent abroad as soon as possible. He would stay and fight alongside any royalist. But Raoul was a stubborn lad, even at the tender age of ten. Would he go quietly if ordered? D'Artagnan was another matter entirely when he made the crossing.
Athos closed his eyes and thought back to his young friend. Constance's death and that of the twins she had been carried devastated D'Artagnan. He had been shocked when Aramis arrived on his doorstep two years ago with D'Artagnan. Their friend had aged terribly and was a shell of his former self. All the life seemed to have gone out of him. Athos had foolishly expected D'Artagnan to recover once he was done grieving. He had underestimated the extent of his despair.
"He hardly sleeps and barely eats. He hasn't spoken much except to mourn her. He has given up caring for his person. The doctors have prescribed their powders and potions but he's not improving. My master requires me to travel and I'm not leaving him in some asylum while I'm away," Aramis informed him sadly then. The ensuing months were a trial on Athos' household. Twice he had found the patient shivering in his nightclothes in the rain, and once Athos had walked in to find D'Artagnan had broken a mirror and was apparently unaware he had lacerated his forearms.
Athos soon discovered that his friend had become addicted to the laudanum prescribed by the doctors. Every night he sought solace in drugged dreams. Deprived of it, D'Artagnan suffered. Yet an overdose could easily kill. On the rare occasions when D'Artagnan was himself, he would be disgusted by his weakness and swear to Athos to give up the drug. Cursing whatever quack physicians had been treating his friend, Athos tried to wean his friend off it. Yet he would always give in to the pleas and threats of self-harm D'Artagnan uttered whenever the craving overtook him.
Caught up in the events shaking their country, Aramis did not come back for D'Artagnan. The events soon caught up with Athos on the quiet estate he had retreated to with D'Artagnan. His fellow nobles made arrangements for their wives and children to be sent abroad to safety. Then Aramis informed Athos of a French noble in London willing to receive D'Artagnan as a guest. If he had been himself, D'Artagnan would have protested, but he was in a drugged stupor when Athos saw him off with the would-be émigrés. If he did not die from an overdose, the Gascon would be out of it until the ship put in at London and his laudanum ran out.
Athos had received a terse letter from D'Artagnan's hostess on his condition and a stern rebuke for his failure in breaking the man's addiction. De Beaumont's suggestion was a little extreme but the old woman was always one to court controversy. No further letters were received after that. Athos motioned for his servant to fetch him another bottle of wine. Raoul would be sleeping still…
"Papa…" Raoul trotted down the stairs in his nightshirt. Fear was painted on his face. Before he could speak, someone kicked in the door.
"Comte de la Fere! We hereby arrest you for crimes against country!" Bayonets and muskets in hand, the soldiers poured into the room.
"Papa is no traitor!" Raoul shouted before Athos or Grimaud could stop him.
"No!" Athos shouted. Raoul launched himself at the nearest soldier, only to have the butt of a musket smashed into his head with a resounding crack. The stunned boy dropped like a sack of oats. Blood oozed and stained the floorboards. With their bayonets still trained on his son, Athos did not dare resist as they bound him.
"Monsieur! Please let me see to the boy!" Athos pleaded to no avail. Grimaud was leaning over the limp form. Apparently the warrant for arrest included the manservant too. The soldiers seized hold of the man's arms and tied them behind his back in the same manner they did with Athos. Raoul was not moving at all. Athos did not know how badly he was injured or if he still breathed.
"Raoul! Athos screamed as the soldiers dragged them from the building, leaving Raoul behind.
It was much later in their dank prison cell that Athos' silent servant was able to relay the message to him that Master Raoul still breathed when they left him.
Author's Notes:
You know what happened in France in the late 18th century – the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror. The former musketeers are smack in the midst of it. For the record, we can consider England friendly at this point, at least to fleeing French nobles.