Author's Notes: What a long semester! I couldn't wait for this class to finally end, and the class did not offer everything I had hoped to learn. At least I received the credits for it, and I maintained my "A" average. That is a light in the darkness.
For this month's theme, I was a little apprehensive at first when I read that it was betrayal because I feel as though I had gone through quite a lot of it recently, and I was hoping for something less painful. However, as I thought about betrayal, I found myself novelizing a scene from "Knight takes Queen," studying Aramis and Athos' interactions after the pivotal moment in the episode. I apologize in advance if this idea had already been done, as I had no intention to take anyone else's plot. I simply enjoy writing scenes from this great series into snippets out of an imaginary novel that I wish had been published.
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.
Summary: A light-hearted novelization of the scene in "Knight takes Queen," in which Aramis is confronted by Athos after a pivotal moment in the episode. Part of the May 2018 Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Betrayal.
Judge, Jury, and Executioner
Between the light of morning and the birds vocalizing their displeasure at the banging still continuing from throughout the night, Aramis found himself on that very edge of awakening from a blissful sleep. He felt warmth across his body, the soft blankets woven between his knees and barely covering the most masculine parts of him. The faint aroma from one remaining beeswax candle still burned the final threads of its wick, the scent barely noticeable with the fresh air of the morning's blossoms wafting into the open window.
The softness of hair that may as well have been smooth, golden threads tickled along his skin, and there was something entirely familiar about the way the warm body clinging to his own moved as one with each breath he took.
His inhale brought with it a wave of honeyed perfume – a specific blend of oils produced from floral blooms and sweetened spices that he knew only one woman ever had brushed on her skin.
Then, he heard the faintest and most discerning sound amidst all the frightened birds and the tunneling of the assassins below – footsteps.
Aramis found it ironic in that one fraction of a heartbeat how his adrenaline had flushed every gentle thought from his head, and all he could do was lie wide awake in panic.
He lifted his head from the pillow and took a breath – releasing a groan at the end of it – to the sight of a fully dressed Athos – doublet and all – standing in the doorway of the bedroom where Aramis and the queen had been sleeping. Then the panic raised a notch, as his tired brain just comprehended the naked queen curled against his naked body and Athos becoming an unwilling witness to a crime that was not intended. Blinking for the briefest of moments at his friend, Aramis took notice to the perfection that was Athos – a serious soldier dressed in the brown uniform of his station, his hair miraculously brushed and his mustache combed, despite the fact that they might not actually survive long enough for such minute grooming details to matter.
Athos stood with one hand holding his pistol facing downward as though ready for an adversary. Aramis wondered if he would raise that pistol at him instead and end his life right there, wasting the bullet on him rather than saving it for their enemies. However, Athos' other hand was on his hip like a mother ready to scold her child, and there was something even more embarrassing about that gesture than the thought of death by pistol fire.
Curses that would make even a sailor blush silently passed in Aramis' thoughts – and he tried for the barest of moments to remember where on his journeys he had heard such words and phrases. However, that notion was cut short when Athos merely turned and walked away with that look in his eyes – the one that had told every Musketeer under his guidance that he had nothing more to discuss and the accused would be wise to make no attempt to convince him that he was innocent. Aramis was a dead man with a mark on him, and Athos was suddenly the hunter who had never missed a target in his life. Aramis decided that he had better hurry and get himself shot by the firing squad of Athos, rather than delay the inevitable and incite Athos' fury. After all, he wanted a quick death, not a prolonged agony, and maybe if he reasoned appropriately with Athos, he would grant him that.
Regrettably, Aramis had gently awakened the queen, explaining that he needed to return to his duties. He hated the thought of untangling from her, but the reminder of Athos' betrayed face had diminished what could have possibly been the greatest morning of his life. And, it would have been the perfect ending to the life of a Musketeer who lived without limits, should they all perish by those assassins' hands before the end of the day.
After much convincing, the queen had finally, and quite sleepily, released Aramis from any further temptations of her naked flesh. While she snuggled into the warmth on the mattress where his body had spent the night, her blue eyes dreamily watched him move about the room towards his clothes. He glanced over his shoulder, knowing he shouldn't smirk but could not help himself as her eyes traced over the parts of him that he realized should not be exposed in – of all places – a convent.
Then, the image of Athos' face flashed in front of his eyes, and Aramis turned to reach for his tunic and trousers, only to see hanging on the wall before him the agonized face of a crucified Christ looking back at him. Another round of curses trickled through his brain, and he wondered how many hours he would need to spend in prayer to receive just one ounce of forgiveness from the Lord for his sudden ongoing list of transgressions.
Deciding it wasn't worth it to tally his sins when he still needed to face the judge, jury, and executioner named Athos, Aramis grabbed his dark brown tunic and threw it over his head, hurrying to get his arms in the sleeves. Balancing himself on the stone floor, he attempted to quickly pull the trousers over his left leg, but was failing miserably as the queen gave him a radiantly humored smile, not realizing that he was moments away from the end of his life.
He caught himself smiling again at her, as he fell onto a chair in his haste to get the trousers up past those parts of him that should not be viewed in a convent. He found himself entirely unable to resist her charms or those compassionate blue eyes that were just full of warmth while he was reaching for his boots and his stockings.
Hastily getting his feet covered, Aramis opted to finish making himself presentable on the run to find Athos. He knew if he stayed any longer in the queen's presence, he would be tempted to avoid Athos, and that was the last thing he should do. Walking quickly out the door, he began tucking his tunic into his trousers, only to pass an entire congregation of nuns sitting in prayer.
Aramis was not one who really cared about being embarrassed, as his past exploits had done more than their share to give him an unusual type of resilience to it. However, he was certain now that Athos had chosen to make him follow him on this path through the convent and the entire congregation of praying, celibate nuns as part of the many layers of punishment that only he could devise.
Aware of his suspenders still hanging near his thighs and deciding to not put his effort into pulling them onto his shoulders unless his trousers started sliding down, Aramis caught Athos talking strategy out loud. Aramis had dared to hope that his morning rouse and Athos' observations were merely part of some convent-induced nightmare that the nuns had incited because they were aware of what he had actually done in said convent.
"I still can't see what they're building," Athos was saying as he paced before the window, his thoughts distracted as he looked out of it.
Aramis stepped closer and decided that it was too much to hope for that what had happened was a nightmare of Athos having caught him, and he decided that he had better right the situation while Athos was still calm and finishing his strategy planning.
"They could be tunneling," Athos concluded and moved to face Aramis.
"About what you saw…" Aramis began, showing that he was not about to let Athos get the upper hand in this argument that he was certain was just brewing in his friend.
"I didn't see anything, because I've been in here all morning, so I couldn't possibly have seen a thing, you understand?" Athos interrupted.
Aramis listened with baited patience while Athos had softly ranted about the morning, waiting for the eruption of anger, the knife at this throat in frustration, or simply the pistol to aim at his heart in betrayal for his actions. When none of that came, Aramis dared to believe that he was safe, and he decided that it was best to disregard the whole incident and discuss the most important part of any survival strategy…a plan.
He took the spyglass that Athos had been using and brought it to his eye, letting his keen eyesight view the distance. With a marksman's gaze, it was possible he would see something that Athos might have missed, and it was better to have a second set of eyes during morning lookout anyway.
Finding nothing of interest, Aramis moved onto the next strategy and tested his hand on the wall with a fist, even though he knew he was stating the obvious. "These walls are too thick. The garrison would be here by then…"
"I cannot believe you slept with the Queen!" Athos suddenly seethed in a hushed yell.
His boiling voice could have melted the walls, the anger and betrayal sharper than any blade that had ever cut into Aramis' skin. How Athos had managed to keep his spittle from flying all over the floor and even land on Aramis, he could not even begin to understand. Aramis was certain that if he had been struck by it, his skin would have burned no less than any poisonous acid he could imagine.
Scratching the back of his head, Aramis sheepishly dared to employ the idea of using Athos' own words against him. After all, he had to do what he could to plead his case to Athos, the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
"I thought you didn't see anything," Aramis pressed gently, realizing that his tactic didn't work as intended and sounded more of a mockery to what Athos had told him earlier, rather than a reiteration, especially when Athos the executioner was the only voice capable of speaking now.
"They'll hang you," Athos said, his words serious and deadly, the weight of what Aramis had done so very heavy that it might as well be a granite stone on his chest crushing him, "And then they'll hang me for letting it happen."
Aramis had one last tactic up his sleeve to diffuse Athos before his friend decided to produce a noose out of his doublet and hang him right here and now so that neither of them would have to face the real executioner.
"More chance we'll be killed here and take it with us to the grave," Aramis offered lightly, and watched Athos relax slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall.
In Aramis' mind, leaning was always a good sign of things settling, and he hoped his magic wit and gentle charm had truly calmed Athos finally.
"That's a comfort," Athos replied – somewhat sarcastically – but there was a slight twist of his head, and the barest of smirks brushing against his lips.
Aramis could almost taste the victory of being allowed to live another day, and as he glanced at his friend, he realized that Athos simply needed a good, hard verbal explosion. His life was never in danger by Athos' hand, but he certainly had to give Athos the satisfaction of fearing that it was.
Now that the moment had passed, Aramis asked, "So, you're good?"
Calmly and in defeat, Athos breathed, "Yeah."
Having diverted yet another crisis of the feminine variety, Aramis knew he was about to push his luck, but he was never one for awkward pauses or prolonging a stale conversation.
"I should get back," Aramis prompted as he started to walk away.
Athos quickly responded, "Shout if you need me."
Not sure if it was meant in jest or another round of frustration that Athos was working on creating, Aramis threw his words over his shoulder, "Why would I need you?"
Walking past the congregation of nuns, Aramis decided that the humor had worn itself out, and they had the task of protecting the queen. The men below the convent had not ceased in the tunneling, and as Aramis backtracked his way to the bedroom he had used the night before, he had hoped that the queen was finally awake and decent.
Another crucifix on the wall caught his eye as he walked past it, and he had decided that there just weren't enough rosaries or prayers in the whole Catholic religion to protect him now from what he had done. He would one day have his judgment against the Almighty, but at least he survived the judge, jury, and executioner that was Athos.
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One final caveat: I had watched and rewatched this scene probably close to fifty times to get the nuances correct. While the beginning of this moment with Aramis and the queen is rather calm and reflective in its music, it is after the scene changes to just Aramis and Athos that the music takes on a comical spin, thus the reason for the light-hearted tone of the story. (Thanks to GingietheSnap for pointing out that my original note here was a little misconstrued.)