The Gift
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Risk across frozen terrain to retrieve an offer of love leads to danger; contemplation and an unexpected thaw of heartwarming proportions. This is an entry for the Fete de Mousquetaires December challenge, with the seasonal themes of "Frozen" and "Heartwarming".
d'Artagnan spotted it just across the pond and thought immediately of her. She would think - how beautifully delicate, hardy and resilient to survive such harsh elements; and he agreed. She would love it; and it would be something from him to show the depths of his feelings for her. He could think of nothing better to symbolize how strongly he felt for her – no loved her.
He stepped cautiously onto the frozen ice and pressed his foot down experimentally. It seemed sturdy, solid enough to take his weight. He slid out a little further; placed both feet on the slippery block and skated awkwardly away from the bank – bending his knees to give it his full burden.
He stood still in thought, then stepped back to the rocky bank and stared across the brief expanse. It wasn't so great a distance to the other side. He could dash across – unearth the treasure and be back over in no time.
d'Artagnan peered down at the white, frosty ice and frowned. Over the peaceful scene of bright sun and blue cloudless skies – he could hear the intermittent popping and cracking of the frozen water. It was not uncommon to hear such creaking and so it did not alarm him as such.
He had grown up spinning; twirling and running on ice such as this and felt no great apprehension. So he folded his arms, drew his blue cloak about him closer and considered his options. Sprint for the prize; go around; or let the opportunity pass.
He pressed his lips in determination. He could do this – he was fast; and if there were any weaknesses – which he did not see - he could out run them. He sniffed in the cold, crisp air – rubbed at his running nose and blew out puffs of condensation that hovered before him.
d'Artagnan leaned over – hands on his knees; and peered once more across to the other side. There – within his reach - on the opposite bank was the object of his scrutiny. He then looked over his shoulder to the three musketeers huddled around a warm fire – hands outstretched toward the flames. Would they assist – he wondered?
He thought on that – and decided against it.
If he told these seasoned soldiers of this – they would only laugh and call him foolish. No – it would only take a moment. He need not involve them in this endeavor at all. Once he returned and showed them his gift – they would understand why he had to have it. They would see how much Constance would admire it; and appreciate what it would mean to present such an offering – a token of his regard.
Gazing at it now – he knew he had never seen such a thing – a flower bloomed in the dead of winter. It's striking white petals splayed like snow drops – stems a bright green – catching his eye; stark against the white of recently fallen snow. At its center – a yellow glow of sun peeked out with warmth.
Yes – he must have it, for there it stood waiting for him to come; claim it – to present to the love of his life. She would see his meaning clear – he was sure of it.
His mind made up – d'Artagnan stood to his full height and resolutely made his way back to camp to get his cup. He would make his way across – dig the flower up, along with some surrounding earth – place it within his tin for easy transport and dart his way back. How hard could it be?
As he burrowed through his saddle bag and searched for his tin – a hand unexpectedly clamped down on his shoulder. When he looked up – Aramis stood behind him, a curious glint in his eye.
"What is it you are up to d'Artagnan?" he asked – having noticed the young man's preoccupied and secretive state since their arrival to this location.
d'Artagnan startled; recovered smoothly and spoke calmly, "Why do you always think I'm up to something?" He held his cup up for Aramis to see. "I'm just going to take some hot coffee, sit by the pond and enjoy the scenery."
Aramis lifted his eyebrows and leaned in close to study his friend more closely. "Look at the scenery?" he questioned with some disbelief and doubt creeping into his voice. "You – sit long enough to enjoy the scenery?"
"Ha, ha – very funny", d'Artagnan countered. He moved from the man's keen eye and poured coffee from the heated pan into his cup. He then made a great show of taking a satisfied sip and then with a nod – made his way back toward the pond.
Athos peered up from beneath the brim of his hat, "What was that all about?" he questioned and watched d'Artagnan stride with purpose away from them at a quick pace – dumping his coffee along the way.
Aramis shrugged his shoulders and took a seat near the fire; and reached for his own cup of coffee. "He goes to soak in the scenery", he chuckled openly – closed his eyes and breathed in the scented drink; welcomed steam rising to tickle his nose.
"Him?" Porthos thumbed at d'Artagnan's retreating back. He then grinned, and laughed aloud with incredulous intent – causing Aramis to laugh with him.
Athos agreed, and stood – suspicion and wariness warring with in him. d'Artagnan deserved to have privacy – as they all did; but something about watching scenery did not sound particularly like something d'Artagnan would do. His sixth sense assailed him with insistence. Athos stepped over his friends and moved to follow.
What was that boy up to he wondered; and made his way toward the pond.
When Athos reached the bank, he had to blink twice and almost rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Surely, he must be hallucinating – for sprinting across the frozen pond at full speed was d'Artagnan – who came to a stop when he lifted his right leg beneath him, and slid to the opposite bank – his blue woolen cloak flapping behind like a flag in the wind.
He stood stock still in shock and after a brief moment of relief – called out over the ice - "d'Artagnan, have you lost your mind?"
Upon hearing Athos call his name, d'Artagnan turned to him; waved both arms above his head and let out a whoop of accomplishment that bounced off the trees, diminished and then floated away with the frigid breeze.
Athos swiped at his face and realized he was sweating profusely despite the brisk conditions. What was d'Artagnan thinking? He looked down at the pond – the ice frozen white – snow still stubbornly sticking to the surface. When he looked back across, d'Artagnan was kneeling – digging in the dirt.
When he stood and faced him – a triumphant smile graced his lips that reached his eyes and caused his face to flush. Athos removed his hat and slapped it angrily against his thigh. "What is it you think you are doing?" he yelled out. "This" – he gestured with his hat in a forceful arc over the pond, "is not safe!"
"Everything is okay Athos" d'Artagnan answered back. "It will only take me a moment to come across." But when he looked behind him, his overconfidence diminished somewhat. There wasn't as much room here as on the other side to make a running start.
But without further consideration – he gripped his tin between both hands and readied himself to take off. "Wait!" Athos yelled – and held out his hands as if to restrain him from a distance. But d'Artagnan did not hear and plunged ahead without fear; his thoughts only of Constance and his gift.
And as d'Artagnan made his way across the open space – it happened. The ice spider webbed beneath him, the sound of it crackled like shattered glass – only ten times louder. d'Artagnan slowed his pace and stole a look behind him. Cracks of ice imploded in his wake – rushing to keep up with his pace; and swallow him whole.
The splendor – noise and rawness of it left him dumb with awe and wonder at such power.
Athos screamed over the cacophony, "Run!" – and he snapped out of his stupor; gathered speed – and ran head long towards Athos; whose arms were outstretched – waiting; urging him to run, "Faster!"
At his heels he could feel the icy water splashing up to dampen his boots. As the ice shifted, his body tilted left, and threatened to derail his race to the bank. Suddenly he had no control over his own body; dipped with the leaning ice and felt his foot break through into freezing water. The cold of it was a shock to his system; he gasped in a breath; and threw his hands down to catch himself.
He watched with dismay as his gift skittered away from him on the ice and groaned with pain as he attempted to pull his foot free.
All of a sudden, Athos was there at his side – grabbed him underneath his arms; pulled him to his feet and dragged him forward. His leg popped from the frozen crevice and the two of them slipped and spun toward the rocks.
Once there, they sat down heavily – untangling their limbs – exhausted. They sucked in cold, frigid air and looked out over the potency of nature. The pond was now a cracked mirror – its shine and gloss lost. Peaks and valleys of ice jutted raggedly up from the splashing water.
d'Artagnan leaned toward Athos to speak – but was met with a stern glare; so he swallowed his words and accepted the silent reprimand. "Let us get back to the others" he commanded; stood and reached down to help him to his feet.
Lost on his lips were his words of apology and gratitude as he reached up and took the arm of the man who just saved his life. Silent, frozen and in dismay he leaned into Athos' strength as they moved slowly back to camp. When he turned around to survey the scene – his gift was gone.
Silence permeated around the small campfire. d'Artagnan held tightly to the blankets wrapped around him and wiggled the toes of his foot – glad to feel the pin pricks stabbing at his skin.
He peered from behind the wool and wished the others would at least speak to him.
After the mishap on the pond – Athos had half dragged; half carried him to the camp – where upon Aramis had descended; removed his boots; sodden socks and pants. He then commenced to vigorously warm him up; rubbed at his tingling foot; examined his toes and declared him a lucky man.
No one had said a word since and that was hours ago. He retreated back into the warm folds and sighed. He had been foolish. But thinking now on the flower and of Constance – he knew deep down that he had to try. How else was he to let her know? Now the opportunity was gone.
He lay down and stared through the hot flames; and let the warmth relax his muscles. Sleepily, he thought of his cup sliding away on the frozen ice – now probably beneath the rift.
As he began to drift down into sleep – he heard Athos speak from across the spitting flames, "Why?"
d'Artagnan blinked slow and steady – happy to hear Athos' voice. "I'm sorry" he began, "I just thought if the flower could survive here in this frozen place – then we, Constance and I, could survive anything. I wished to carry it back to Paris – my gift to her."
"The cup?" - Athos asked – recalling d'Artagnan's mad dash to safety, clinging to that damn cup.
d'Artagnan nodded – blinked once, twice; and promptly fell into sleep – his breathing heavy and deep.
Athos considered d'Artagnan's words and reached for the locket that lay under his coat; and felt the heat of the flower there resting about his numb heart; and understood. He rubbed at his chest and remembered his overture of love with this very necklace – her favorite flower embedded there. At that point in time he had gone to great lengths to prove his affections – his heart open then to all nature of possibilities.
"He is young" Aramis bemoaned, as he stoked the flames higher.
"He is too impetuous for his own good" – Porthos chuckled as he placed yet another blanket over d'Artagnan's prone form.
Athos stood to his feet and nodded his agreement with their assessment and walked from the camp into the growing darkness.
As the early morning sun peaked out behind the clouds – d'Artagnan stretched his limbs and yawned widely. When he pried his eyes open, Aramis sat alongside him, "How do you feel", he asked with a hint of mirth to his tone.
d'Artagnan wiggled his toes; sat up and drew closer to the fire. "I'm fine" he said shyly and looked away before he could notice his embarrassment. When he gazed up – Porthos moved toward him with his pants, shoes and socks, dry and ready for wear. "Then we should get going", he stated – and placed the items in front of him on the ground.
d'Artagnan reached for his things with a grin, and began getting dressed – shivering as a cold breeze swept over him.
As a toasty sock covered his toes - Athos appeared, and knelt down on his haunches before him – a cup held carefully in his grip; a look of contemplation creased on his brow. After a moment, he held it out for d'Artagan to take and stood to his feet to gather his belongings for departure.
d'Artagnan nodded his thanks; looked down into the offered cup expecting something there to warm his insides – but what greeted him left him speechless – for there within was the snow drop – safe among its piece of earth.
He looked quickly to his friend – wondered how – why – when; but no words would come. He just stared amazed; bewildered and grateful down into his cup – warmth welling up from his belly to his heart.
Porthos clapped his back, Aramis threw his cloak around his shoulders and Athos declared, "Gather your things d'Artagnan, we are headed home."
Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this entry to the Fete de Mousquetaires December challenge. This is the first contest I have ever entered – so please let me know what you think! If you would also like to participate, please go to the Musketeers' Forum page titled Fete de Mousquetaires to learn more about the rules and how to enter. Thank you!