A/N: Hello everyone! Surprise update today! I know I have not written anything in a long time, but I had promised this one update, even if it was almost one year ago... So, if you are curious, this two-shot is a prequel to my Musketeers fic Ghost of the Past. If you have not read that one first, you will follow this as a original story; and for those of you who did read GotP, then enjoy! I did promise, after all!

Disclaimer: I do not own the musketeers present in the second chapter. I however own the plot, OCs and places used in the rest of this fic.

WARNING: Mention of abuse at the end of this chapter.

Strength

1631. 1st March

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Cries. Tears. Screams.

Darkness. Emptiness. Hollowness.

One slender body lay on the floor of one usually neat kitchen, its furniture thrown in disarray around the room. The hair was a deep shade of auburn, almost bordering on red. The eyes, usually fair and glistening with happiness, were red and puffy with tears. The dress, one of the woman's favourite, was torn where she had clawed at it. In her hands was clutched a crumpled letter she had read over and over again the past days.

'Madame,

It is with deep regret that I have to announce the body of your husband, Antoine Durieux, residing in Bayeux, was found yesternight in the Seine. He had unfortunately been robbed of all personal belongings.

It is also with deep regret that I have to announce the death of the young man travelling with him, Monsieur Léon.

Please do receive my sincerest condolances. I remain at your service should you ever need it. Antoine was a good provider and an even better friend.

Cordially,

Monsieur Jean Demarais, tisserand at the Rue des Moulins, Paris'

The letter had been laced with a black ribbon, which had since then been lost somewhere in the house.

Juliette, Antoine's young wife, had not stopped crying since first reading Monsieur Jean's words.

Antoine had often left home on errands for his work as a silk merchant, but he had promised her days on end that he would be careful, prudent... And yet, here he was, dead. In Paris. Alongside his apprentice, fifteen-year-old Léon. She had not spared the boy's mother a thought yet, but she would have no doubt later on that she, too, was unconsolable.

Juliette and Antoine, you see, had married for love. It was rare and precious in those times, but it meant that every separation was even more painful than for "ordinary folk". Combined to the fact that they had never had any children, it was an utter tragedy.

There was a series of soft knocks on the kitchen door, and Juliette shrank back where she lay against the upturned table.

"Juliette, please, darling, come out..." came the hushed voice of René, Antoine's elderly father, her beloved father-in-law. He had tried to pry his daughter's fingers off the letter for hours before she locked herself inside her house, throwing tantrum over tantrum whenever he tried to see her.

The problem was, René and his son looked far too similar. Same pure blue eyes, same hair cut neatly except for the bangs on their foreheads. The only difference was the shade of René's hair, slightly greyer than Antoine's. And each time she stared at him, Juliette was reminded for Antoine and it hurt too much...

"Please, René, not now..."

"My love, it has been four days. People are starting to wonder where you are. An honorary funeral is to be held tomorrow. You have to attend." René's voice was stronger than usual. She could hear the shake in it, betrayal his own hurt, but he was determined.

Juliette let out another pained sob and crumpled the letter even more. Funeral. What was there to bury anyway? The body found in Paris had been thrown in a communal grave because of its state, this casket would be empty, and what would it mean? Nothing.

"Juliette... Please. Show them one last time how much you loved my son..."

Oh, she had loved him. So much she thought she would die of love...

She remembered Antoine's words the first time he left her side after their marriage. He had squeezed a paper in her hand, his blue eyes dark with seriousness, and he had called it 'my last will'. And when they had read it together, Juliette discovered she was her husband's only heir, should they not have children.

Which meant yes, for better or for worse, Bayeux' finest silk needed a merchant.

And that it should be her. Antoine's beloved wife.

So Juliette stumbled to her feet, and went to unlock the latch on the door. René's weary face appeared in the dark room, and he encompassed her in his strong arms, and she let herself be hugged and comforted...

1631. 2nd March

It was a lovely day outside, a soft sun warming up the attendance as they stood in the small graveyard. It was terribly offensive that the spring had decided to start its work on a day like this. Juliette secretly hated the sun for making an appearance as she said goodbye to her beloved husband.

She had for the "occasion" put on a magnificent silken dress laced with black patterns. It had been Antoine's gift to her on her own mother's death when they were by then engaged for two months. She had not worn it since.

Only a small group of people had gathered around the priest and the hole in the ground on that day. René, of course, but also Antoinette, Juliette's aunt and sole parent still alive, and a small gathering of other merchants, including Monsieur Jean, who had hurried up from Paris and who had arrived a few hours earlier, sweating and his horse exhausted.

The ceremony was short and sweet. The priest sang Antoine's qualities and vertues, as was usual in such moments; and René made a wonderful eulogy. Then, the empty casket was lowered into the ground, revealing a lovely carved stone on which was engraved 'Antoine Durieux, beloved son and husband'.

Juliette kept her composure throughout the whole ceremony, but as soon as she saw the stone, she fell to her knees, sobs erupting from her lips under the veil that was covering her fiery hair.

She tried to control it, to remain dignified, but it was to no avail. Her love, the love of her life, had left her side, had been taken from her, and there was nothing she could do.

When René helped her up, then started the mandatory condolances from those in attendance. Most she did not know by name, only by face, and she knew that their words of 'we'll miss him dearly' and of 'he was such a lovely man' were only half-felt.

When Monsieur Jean walked up to them, only he seemed to feel the same pain, if only part of it, that they felt. He gently kissed Juliette's knuckles, and asked in a whisper, "So, are you going to take over, Madame?"

Juliette felt her eyes prickle with tears once again, but she knew the old man was only conveying his trust in her abilities. She nodded stiffly. "I will try my best." Her voice was shaky, but strong.

The Parisian smiled sadly. "I know you will." He then looked up at René with the same smile. "It might be of both your interests if Madame Durieux did not live alone anymore. Some will want her head if she thrives to be as popular as our late Antoine."

René nodded gravely, his hand going to his daughter-in-law's shoulder. "I will find her an apprentice." Monsieur Jean seemed satisfied, and left the scene.

So there it was, standing in front of the freshly closed grave of her husband, that Juliette Durieux vouched that she would make him proud and take back what he had valiantly fought for all his life.

And that she would become the most well-known silk merchant in the whole of France.

1631. 16th June

"Mistress Durieux, come now, quick!"

Juliette looked up from her thorough analyse of the cloth she had purchased that morning at a good price. So far there was no fault to be found. She'd have to trade with that Chinese merchant more often...

The young boy who had been aiding her in carrying the bundles of cloth from the docks to her shop was almost jumping up and down, poiting at a man standing in front of the door, shifting from foot to foot.

Juliette wiped her dusty hands on her apron and took the stance of someone of importance that she was not, and she assessed the young man.

He could not have been much younger than herself, maybe eighteen or nineteen years of age. Tall, broad of shoulders, he looked intimidating enough for the sword that hung at his side to be considered a threat. He had longish brown hair that curled just under his ears, stubble that covered his cheeks and chin rather elegantly, and bright hazel eyes which seemed to smile even if his lips did not.

"Can I help you?" she asked matter-of-factly. She had met enough new people in town to know that this one was not interested in purchasing silk. Or her, for that matter. Some had tried.

"Madame Durieux?" the man asked. His voice was raspy, as if he had been choked during infancy, but it added to the intimidating stature.

She nodded once. "It is I. And you are...?"

"Damien Francier, Madame," he answered with a bow of the head. "I heard of your needs for an apprentice, and I came to pay my respects."

"You heard?" she said with a arched brow. "And who told you, pray tell?" She was being playful, then, somehow, knowing before-hand who had sent the youngster to her door.

"A Monsieur René Durieux, Madame. He is a very good friend of my uncle, Salomon Stern."

Juliette did not make any comment about the fact that such a name surely belonged to a Jew, or that her father-in-law's dealing with the jewellers was of little interest to her, because the young man's stature and demeanour was rather pleasing. "Do you know what would be asked of you as my apprentice?"

"I must admit I do not know, Madame. I have very little dealings with the cloth merchants myself, and other than carrying your purchases from the docks through here, I don't have a clue." He ended his speech with a chuckle that made him look far less intimidating, and Juliette found herself truly smiling at the man, perhaps for the first time in ages.

"Well, you'd learn the trade, of course, to take over once I retire. That means taking accounts, trading with other merchants, finding good deals, finding customers, selling the goods and sometimes..." her voice faltered, "transport them to their destination."

Damien smiled broader. "Then I think I am the right person, Madame. I have accounted in the past before, for my father's trade - he used to sell his best cows, you see - and carrying heavy things is not a problem either."

"Then I may consider you, Monsieur Francier," Juliette said before she turned to go back inside. "Be back tomorrow at five o'clock sharp in the morning. We'll start from there."

1632. 25th August

Juliette was counting again and again, feeling more and more tired as time went by. The fire beside her armchair had long since turned into ashes, and as the sun lazily rose, she realised she had stayed up all night. Once again.

She was plagued with nightmares and had been ever since Antoine's death, more than a year prior. She still wore her black dress, refused to let go of her mourning, and it was even worse since Damien had moved in with her.

Damien had become a very good friend in less time than it usually took people to get introduced. She could honestly say she thought of him as a little brother.

He was clever, devilishly so, and imposed such presence that, in his company, she never felt threatened again. On the few occasions when René came visiting, she could not stop thanking him for sending her apprentice along. And to therefore have made her trade a thriving one once again.

The name of Durieux continued to appeal to silk-lovers all over the North, and slowly, it went back as far as the capital, then some merchants came up from Lyon to purchase the small luxury themselves. She would have made Antoine proud, she was sure of it.

And yet, living with another man, even if no one questioned her loyalty to her husband thanks to her black attire, made her feel guilty for reasons she had yet to contemplate fully.

A sigh shook her off her rêverie. "You spent the whole night here, again?" Damien's raspy voice said with a little tut in the tone.

She sighed too, feeling suddenly very much exhausted. "I could not sleep."

"Well now I bet you can. Come on," he added as he gently scooped her off the armchair and into his arms. He did that, from time to time, and did not stop chastising her all the way to her bedchamber in the small house.

This time was slightly different though.

"Madame Vannier has sent over an invitation, by the way. She is throwing a small party at the hall this evening. For her son's ten's birthday."

Juliette hummed, half-asleep already. "I don't want to go."

"And yet you will," he said while gently kicking the door open. "It is time you start enjoying life again, little sister." The endearment sent a growl of disapproval to her lips. She was not little!

Damien set her down on the bed and tucked her in, just like a caring brother would, and Juliette felt so safe it overwhelmed her for a second.

"We'll talk about it later. For now, sleep. I'll open the shop." He kissed her forehead, and left.

When Juliette woke up, it was far later than midday already. She could hear the commotion of the trade below, meaning that Damien was once again doing a fairly good job at selling their goods.

Juliette was no idiot: she knew by then that the young man's appearance, and even more his deep raspy voice, appealed to the young ladies of Bayeux, and not only the young. She dared say that she had thought about using it from the moment they met. And she had been right to.

When she finally asked him after a few weeks of work alongside each other what had rendered his voice thus, Damien had explained that when he was a boy, a horseling he had been trying to tame trampled him and stepped on his neck. He should by all means have died of the incident, but thankfully he had survived, albeit with damaged vocal chords and an interdiction to ever sing. Otherwise he'd lose the voice forever.

Juliette had never heard him try, though, and in her state of mourning she herself had never thought about singing, although she had a horrible voice and could not be bothered to entertain anyone with it.

Damien had indeed sold a lot that day, which made Juliette very happy; happy enough, actually, to consider going to Madame Vannier's party at the city hall.

The sun was still far from setting when she arrived at the small community hall, a ballroom that was big enough to accommodate two hundred people and no more. Some space was already taken by an orchestra when Juliette arrived, and a good portion was taken by couples dancing, or children playing.

Madame Vannier lived not far from Juliette and Damien. She knew them as neighbours would know people who they waved to in the street: not enough. But she was decent-looking, and one of the few women in Bayeux who Juliette had not found talking behind her back. It was refreshing.

"Madame Durieux! What a wonderful surprise! I thought you'd never come!"

Juliette smiled. She was still wearing her mourning dress, but she felt more at peace with public gatherings than she had done a few months prior. "I thank you for the invitation. I needed some time out of the shop."

"You are working far too much, Madame," Madame Vannier chastised her. "But come, I'd like you to meet my brother. I told you about him!"

Juliette kept herself from rolling her eyes. Oh yes, she had heard about Eric Delors. Too much, she thought. The man seemed to be an angel, some kind of saint come to Earth for his sole sister's amusement.

She had to admit though, upon seeing the man, that he was indeed very attractive. Blonde hair that was the colour of daisies, blue eyes that matched hers, he was undeniably a beautiful man. And in a way so totally different from Antoine's that it didn't even hurt to look at him.

"Eric, this is Madame Juliette Durieux. She owns Bayeux' most famous silk contengeant. Madame, this is my brother, Monsieur Eric Delors."

He bowed to kiss Juliette's knuckles, which was a gentlemanly thing to do, but something in the man's demeanour translated some kind of...foreign ways? She did not know how to put it.

Of course, Madame Vannier left the scene to supposedly go and greet new guests. But her brother was not stupid, and he apologized to Juliette in no time at all.

"I am sorry for my sister's behaviour, Madame. She has been trying to marry me off since I came back to France. Some sort of obsession, I believe. Do not feel offended, I beg you."

Juliette smiled. She liked his talk. He was very eloquent in a manner... "There is nothing to apologize for, Monsieur. Your sister has been trying to marry me off since the day we met." She paused, smiling some more. "You said you just came back to France? May I ask where you were before?"

Monsieur Delors smiled back, snatching two cups of cheap wine before handing one to Juliette. "Oh, travelling is my only vice. A few years back, I went as far as Egypt. It's a marvelous country, filled with History, but far too hot for me," he chuckled, mirrored by his for-now companion, "but I've just come back from a three-year life in Italy. Florence is a place of wonder."

"Did you study art there?" Juliette asked, for she was attached to literature herself and had to admit she had little opportunity to talk about serious topics like these anymore.

"Not officially, but I did follow a sculptor around for some time," he kept smiling. "I dally in painting myself, to a much smaller level."

"I wished I could say the same, but my skill is even smaller than that!" Juliette laughed slowly, realising she hadn't had many opportunities to do so in the past few months. "You are lucky to be able to travel thus, Monsieur."

"You should not feel impeded because you are a woman, Madame. I hear that you have an apprentice ready to take over. Maybe time to travel will come?"

She smiled sadly. "I doubt it but I appreciate your saying so."

Eric kept smiling to her, something she had grown unaccustomed to ever since her husband's passing. Being under a man's scrutiny had always been something she had not been comfortable with, if not in the intimacy of a darkly-lit bedroom.

And yet, something about the traveller exhilirated her in a way she did not understand. He was charming, yes, but not overly so. He looked properly like a man who was politely making acquaintances but who was not interested. It puzzled her.

"May I offer you to dance, Madame Durieux?" he asked after a while.

She shook her head and sipped on her beverage. "I thank you for the offer, but I'm not prone to give your sister and her friends any more reasons to gossip." She chuckled, and he mirrored her again, his laugh something very endearing.

"I can only agree."

And so Juliette Durieux met Eric Delors, for their first but not last encounter...

1633. 1st January

Juliette was making her way through the snowy streets of Bayeux. She adjusted her coat and woolen scarf to protect herself some more from the freezing wind, and continued her march towards church.

She had begun despising winter ever since Antoine's death. It had been his favourite season, and she still acutely remembered the look on his face every time he walked into the snow. The look of a child who wished for nothing more than to just roll into the white mantel. It had made her laugh so much when they had been blissfully married...

But ever since his passing, Juliette hated the snow, hated winter, hated Christmas time. But this time was to be slightly different.

Juliette and Eric Delors had soon after Madame Vannier's party begun a friendship that so far had been nawt but agreeable. Sometimes she found herself wondering if he was courting her; sometimes she just enjoyed his company.

It was difficult, having a platonic relationship with a man. Everyone who saw them both arm in arm in the streets thought they were seeing each other officially, and Madame Vannier herself kept referring to Juliette as 'my future sister'. Which was also the source of her discomfort when she was alone with Eric late at night, swallowed in one of their many discussions about art and the world.

Was Eric developping feelings for her? Was she developping some for him? Would he ask her to marry him soon? What would she answer if he did?

Juliette was even more lost when she realized one morning that she did not feel guilty anymore. Antoine would not have wanted her to mourn him forever, after all...

"I was beginning to worry, Madame. I feared you had gotten lost in the blizzard." Juliette looked up from her feet and smiled as Eric stepped down from the church's porch to offer her his arm. "Happy New Year."

She smiled brightly. "Happy New Year, my dear friend." They moved inside, where they found half of the city already gathered for the traditional New Year's mass. Damien, who had been absent these past few weeks to visit his own relatives, soon waved at both, and Juliette moved to sit by him.

She soon realized her mistake when Eric outstretched a hand towards her associate. "Eric Delors, nice to finally meet you."

She looked at Damien who stood, an undescribable look on his face as he shook the offered hand. "Damien Francier, pleasure to make your acquaintance," he answered in his so peculiar voice.

Juliette noticed the spark of interest in Eric's eyes, but she let it be. Damien's voice sounded as if he, too, had seen the world. She would be less amused when her friend discovered the boring story behind Damien's raspiness.

Both men encompassing her on the bench, Juliette turned to the priest, and signed herself. She then wondered if the constant buzzing she heard was not some kind of whispered gossips, and she gritted her teeth. The town's harpies were at work again...

1633. 16th April

Juliette had walked a long way to meet with the mysterious Monsieur who wished to by her silks. She had found it peculiar, at first, to meet a potential client outside of her shop, but decided to pay it no mind since it would likely fund her and her employees for at least three months.

The gentleman had appeared to be a man from the capital, working for someone of some importance whom he refused to give the name of. She didn't mind.

Knowing that her trade was once again flowing as far as Paris gave Juliette mixed feelings. She was glad, ecstatic really, to know that her silks were fine enough to have attracted the parisian eyes; but she was also worried that History would repeat itself.

After all, to deliver the silks demanded by the gentleman, she'd have to send Damien. And if he was no husband to her, he had grown to be so dear to her she considered him to be a brother. The danger of it all make her blood cold, and she shivered unvoluntarily.

Juliette had almost reached her street when she realized that, once again, the streetlamps had been neglected. Sometimes, in Bayeux, it was not curious to find a street completely dark at night, the usual torches having not been lit by the city's employees.

She adjusted her shawl upon her shoulders and hurried her pace. She was not comfortable walking here so late in the evening. The street life had died out hours ago, and the few people still outside at that hour were men looking for a drink in one of the many taverns that adorned Bayeux.

"Oooh, but would you look at this, pals!"

Juliette gritted her teeth as she first heard the drawl behind her. It was crass, no doubt someone not from the region, as Normandy had always been and would remain, she was certain, a place of easy trade brought by sea and canals.

"Hey Missy, don't ignore us, show us yer face!" continued the stranger. Juliette carried on walking, unphased. Or at least, outwardly unphased. Inside, she was petrified.

"She's shy, Mag, look at her, she surely is no whore that one! Too pretty, too clean!" added another one.

"Too bad... Or maybe she'll be tastier that way," responded the named 'Mag', and Juliette tried to hurry her pace some more, noticing how she had almost reached the end of the street. Just a little bit further...

She cried out when her hair was suddenly pulled backwards by a harsh hand. The stench of the man gave no doubt as to his inebriated state, and Juliette squeezed her eyes shut, knowing full well what was going to happen, and knowing full well she could not prevent it.

The man sniffed her hair and laughed, the sound crass to her ears. "She smells like royalty this one! Think she'll feel like one too?"

"Guess we have to find out, eh?"

Juliette was roughly pulled by the hair into a dark alcove, no doubt created by the porch of some house. She hoped for a moment that the occupants might come out and chase the ruffians away, but a little voice at the back of her mind told her these things occurred too often in Bayeux for people to still care.

The man who was holding her hair reached to the front of her dress and started groping her everywhere he could reach. She whimpered, tears springing to her eyes. She wanted to fight back, needed to, but she was frozen by fear. Her thoughts went to Antoine, and to the shame he'd have felt to have wed a lost woman.

When the men's hands began to be a little too wandering, when they started bunching her skirts up to reach the forbidden fruit, Juliette woke up from her stupor and started kicking back, shouting as loud as she could, calling for help. The second man planted his hand roughly on her face, not caring if he was in the same time choking her.

Kicking was no help. Alone against two rapists, Juliette was useless. So she slumped back against the second of her assailants, and waited for what was to come. It seemed to please them greatly, but soon, their laughter was to be no more.

There was the sound of a gun being cocked, and the first man, 'Mag', turned to see who had disturbed his evening of debauchery.

"I would like you to unhand the lady. Please." The voice was unmistakeable, and unwavering. Damien. Juliette could feel the tears of relief spring to her eyes.

The second man began to release her and her breath, but 'Mag' snickered. "And wha' d'ya think you'll achieve with that stick of yours?"

Damien's head tilted to the side. "This."

The gunshot echoed in the dark street, and 'Mag' shouted out in pain, his hands cradling the hole he now had in his thigh.

Juliette was free, the second ruffian running away as soon as his accomplice had been struck. Damien reached for her gently, and she let herself be encompassed by much friendlier arms...

"I am sorry, but this might hurt," Damien said about an hour later, a basin of warm water in front of him as he started dabbing at Juliette's neck.

She shook her head, as if the pain had been numbed, but the memory of these men's hands on her was too much to handle. She felt filthy, she felt enraged, she felt...useless. How many women before her had lived through this? Had had to live through the whole experience because Damien had not gone to their rescue? The thought made her sick to her stomach.

"I knew something was off when I looked at the time and you weren't home. Thank God I thought of taking my pistol!"

Juliette's eyes focused again on the present, and she eyed Damien with a new kind of reflexion. "Where did you learn to shoot?"

He shrugged. "My father taught me. To shoot animals, mainly. But it's as effective against bastards such as those." He growled, and Juliette felt a pang of...safety? run through her veins.

Damien was her bodyguard now. She knew she should feel glad to be able to trust someone thus, but all she felt was more uselessness.

So she stared at her apprentice and friend, until he had no other choice than to enquire on her intensity of eyes. She stared some more, then asked "Will you teach me? How to shoot?"

Damien stopped dabbing at her marks, and stared back. She could see the thoughts buzzing through his hazel eyes, and feared she'd be scolded like a child. But instead, he nodded with a small smirk. "It'll be my pleasure."