Part 3 of Battlescars carries on from the events described in Light up the Dark when d'Artagnan returns to Athos and Porthos at the front, which I've assumed is in the autumn of 1634, two years into the war according to the BBC timeline. It's not quite as gloomy as BS Part 2, and explores more of the life of the Musketeer regiment at war through the eyes of all three of them. Even so there are plenty of repercussions from d'Artagnan's captivity so you do need to know what happened in BS2. If you don't want to read it, or need a quick refresher, there's a summary at the end of this Prologue.
The Prologue is short but after that I'm back to my usual long chapters, so I plan to update on Wednesdays and Sundays so you have time to find a quiet moment to curl up with a cup of tea, wine or whatever brings you peace.
There is some occasional bad language and mild blasphemy, but only where I felt it would be unrealistic to sanitise their words.
The story titles and chapter titles are all taken from two songs by Paradise Fears: Battlescars, and Warrior.
As always, the main characters belong to Dumas and the BBC's The Musketeers, but the events in my stories come from my imagination and I give them freely for the enjoyment of others.
Battlescars 3: Fire in Your Heart
Prologue: Paris, 1636 (1455)
"Athos?"
He looks up and smiles: the carefree, teasing smile that still surprises her even though he's been wearing it for weeks. Ever since he's taken to spending his nights away from the garrison, with Sylvie.
"You know that night?"
He doesn't need to ask which night. There is only one night, recently, that they all think about; the one where d'Artagnan had at last talked to them all about everything he had been through when held captive by the Spanish. That's the night when the air had finally been cleared between them all. Porthos and Aramis have been closer since then, plotting escapades and chuckling together as they recount each night's adventures over breakfast, and d'Artagnan has begun to lose the haunted look he's carried for the last two years.
"In the mess room, you were asking d'Artagnan about something. About something that happened at Roncesvalle."
Merde. His smile fades; he knows it but he's powerless to hide his dismay at the name which brings guilt and anger and fear churning instantly into his gut. He rallies his famed control with an effort. "You have sharp hearing. That was a discussion between him and me."
She has the grace to look embarrassed for a second, then the fire he's become used to seeing flashes in her eyes again. There are times when he wonders how d'Artagnan copes with her strength of character. Then again, Sylvie is hardly what you would describe as compliant or weak. He sighs, wondering if their lives would all be easier without women. Then realises he already knows the answer: easier, but less ... interesting. He smiles inwardly at the idea of voicing this to Sylvie. She has brought so much more to his life: colour, and fire, and challenge; she makes the blood sing in his veins. She makes him a better person.
"... Athos, are you even listening?" Constance is in his face now, eyes sparking with irritation, and he wonders how long he's been day-dreaming. He takes an imperceptible step backwards, remembering that night when – amongst many other things – she'd belted him so hard that his teeth rattled. Just before d'Artagnan broke his nose.
"Athos!"
He really has to focus. She's positively vibrating with ire now, and heads are turning all around the garrison courtyard. Sadly none of those heads appear to be d'Artagnan's – Athos suspects he is the only person capable of deflecting Constance right now.
"Yes." He can't actually remember the question but he has a fifty-fifty chance of that being the correct answer and it is worth trying.
She tips her head to one side, with a suspicious expression that suggests she knows full well he is guessing. "Yes, what?"
Merde, again. "Yes, I am listening." She can't see his fingers crossed behind his back, he reasons. He's outbluffed Generals before now; surely he can handle with d'Artagnan's wife –
"And?"
His back touches a pillar and he realises he's been slowly backing up. Dammit! He is surrounded by musketeers and normally he can't set foot in the courtyard without someone demanding something of him. Where is everyone? Taking his eyes off Constance for a second he scans the courtyard rapidly, finding plenty of musketeers and cadets lurking but none facing him. All seem to be extraordinarily busy doing something that entails them keeping their backs to him. Rat-tailed, lily-livered, spineless cowards, the lot of them.
"And... I have things to do Constance. Much as I relish your company, I do have to get on so if you don't mind..." He tries to step around her and just as quickly she shifts so she is still standing between him and escape.
"Not so fast. You said yes, so when? When will you explain about Roncesvalle, and what happened between you and d'Artagnan there?"
Ah. That must have been the question. Damn Sylvie and her beguiling eyes, distracting him.
"Please?"
Athos tsks and rolls his eyes. "Have you not heard enough about the war yet? I would have thought –"
"It still troubles him."
Athos stills, his eyes searching her face. "What ... what do you mean?"
"He talks about it in his sleep."
"Are you sure? How do you know he's talking about – Roncesvalle?" He holds his breath. He really doesn't want to hear that it still bothers d'Artagnan enough to trouble his sleep.
"I don't. Not for sure. But it's about you, so unless there's something else which happened in the war that might make him fret...?"
Oh, there are many things that could still trouble d'Artagnan, he knows: they all have nightmares aplenty, and some things from the war will never leave them. But Roncesvalles? He has so hoped that it no longer bothered d'Artagnan the way it bothers him. He admits this to himself but no one else. Not Porthos, and certainly not d'Artagnan.
"What does he say in his sleep?"
"He says sorry, mostly." She sees him relax fractionally, and feels angry at this hint of things still hidden. "Don't tell me it's nothing. I'm not stupid. I've asked him, and he just says it's not important and it's been dealt with long ago. If I push, he says it's not about him, it's about you. So what is it, Athos?"
"Something that happened in wartime, two years ago, which is no longer important." A new voice joins the conversation, gentle but firm. Trying to head her off.
Athos breaths a inner sigh of relief and smiles at d'Artagnan, as the subject of their discussion joins them and tucks his hand under Constance's elbow.
"If it's so unimportant, why not tell me?" The woman is relentless!
"Constance – "
"If it's still coming up, probably best to tell everyone." Someone else joins the conversation, this one sounding light-hearted and annoyingly chirpy. No prizes for guessing who it belongs to.
Athos groans out loud. Now they all pop out of the woodwork! He swivels on his heel and glares at Aramis, who is leaning on the next pillar along, arms crossed, looking relaxed and ever-so-slightly smug.
It's alright for him! He doesn't have four year's worth of failed battle plans, arguments and misunderstandings to own up to. He doesn't have more deaths on his conscience than ... than... than scars on his body! He doesn't have a hundred injuries that could have been avoided if Athos had chosen differently, planned better, worked harder...
"Admittedly – " Aramis pushes himself off the pillar and wanders over to stand next to Constance – "I don't know what you're talking about, but it strikes me that even if you say it's dealt with, d'Artagnan, perhaps Athos feels differently? Whatever it is..." He trails off as Athos turns to glare at him.
"Athos is perfectly capable of speaking for himself, thank you," hisses Athos, acerbically.
"Go on, then," rejoins Constance promptly. Aiiee!
d'Artagnan grins at Athos. "Now you know how it feels to be married to a smart woman," he tells him, gravely, at the same time as he casually disengages himself from her and takes a precautionary step sideways.
Coward. Athos ignores the fact that he himself has spent the last few minutes backing away from her and catches d'Artagnan's eye. "We dealt with it. You said so; I said so; we moved on. Do you really want to go back there? With them?" Athos waves a hand at Constance and Aramis.
d'Artagnan hesitates visibly, and Athos throws his hands up in despair.
d'Artagnan looks apologetic, but speaks firmly. "No, Athos, wait. I am fine about it – you know that. You were the one who brought it up when I was talking about – you know. Everything. And since then, apparently, I've been dreaming – but not about that; or not just about that. I think it's just reminded me of everything we went through together – and it's not all bad." He turns earnest eyes on Constance. "It's just – there's a lot of it to process. Come to terms with. There wasn't a lot of time to think, on the front, let alone have heart-to-heart talks."
He stops, seeing the fear in Athos' face, and understands it instantly. Fear that raking over old coals will just re-ignite the embers. He hesitates, sure of his gut feeling that Athos, not he, needs to talk about it, but sees the naked plea in Athos' eyes and turns instead to Constance in an attempt to get her to back down. "Look, my love, it doesn't mean there's a problem, or anything more we need to talk about. Maybe it's best just to ..."
"Move on?" A deep voice from the courtyard as Porthos wanders up them. He's clearly been listening in, at least to the last part. "Thing is, d'Artagnan, I think Aramis is right. Maybe it's time Athos talked about it, cos I'm not sure he's accepted it as easily as you did."
Athos curses and stalks off, heading out of the archway. Scurrying footsteps behind him told him – as he'd feared – that it won't be easy to shake Constance off. A snatch of conversation tells him the others aren't far behind. Shaking his head, he carries on, but gradually slows his pace so they can catch him up.
"Where are we going?" asks Porthos conversationally, slinging an arm around his Captain's shoulders.
"The Wren. If you insist on doing this I'll need a glass in my hand."
Porthos chuckles and beckoned the others to catch up. Athos has given way surprisingly quickly and that speaks volumes for what he's feeling under his impassive visage. It is high time he talked about it.
Aramis catches Porthos' arm as the others ducked through the doorway of the Wren. "Is this the right place to do this?"
Porthos looks at him, considering. He knows what Aramis means. When d'Artagnan started unravelling, a week or two ago, it took them the best part of a day to tease the story out of him, and it was not without its dramas. He remembers the ill-placed bucket in the stables and chuckles, but sobers almost instantly, remembering the high emotions of that long night.
Aramis is still waiting for an answer, deep concern in his eyes. Porthos thinks about the things they haven't talked about yet, and sighs. "It's war stories, my friend. Nothin' you 'aven't heard, or been through yourself."
Aramis feels an unexpected glow; he wasn't expecting Porthos to be so generous. He's the outsider here, after all: the soldier who didn't fight, and although he knows Porthos has forgiven him, there is still a distance between them. A distance of four years.
Porthos tuts, and slings an arm around his shoulders, reading his face as easily as if he'd spoken aloud. "It's Athos' choice. Maybe he feels safer doing it in public. Less chance of flying elbows, or slaps."
"Is that likely?" Aramis sounds nervous as Porthos shoulders the door open and steers them both in. They squint in the smoky gloom but spot the others with practiced ease, sitting at the table furthest from the bar. Porthos is laughing out loud by the time they sit down, enjoying Aramis' apprehension. "Only if your name's Athos, mon ami," he says, leaning across and snagging a pair of goblets and one of the bottles Athos has already procured.
Athos looks up at his name, but doesn't react. His face is mostly in shadow and Aramis can't see his expression, only his hands where his long fingers toy with an empty goblet. Constance looks curious, concerned, apprehensive – much like Aramis feels – and d'Artagnan is leaning forward, forearms on the table, hands clasped, looking contemplative.
For a while no one speaks. Aramis is usually the first one to fill any awkward silence with his own special blend of gallantry and humour, but he's out of his depths here, not knowing what's coming, so he holds his tongue. Eventually there's a slight jerk on his left, where Porthos sits looking relaxed and capable, as always, and at the same time Athos startles, almost dropping his goblet as his hands twitch. He looks their way and glowers, and it dawns on Aramis that Porthos has just kicked Athos under the table.
Porthos shrugs, not even bothering to look innocent. d'Artagnan catches on and grins, and Constance looks from face to face looking lost. "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" she demands eventually.
Everyone looks at Athos, who brought them all here, and he carries on staring into his empty goblet. Eventually d'Artagnan clears his throat and all heads swing his way. "Shall I start?" he asks no one in particular. Porthos nods encouragement. d'Artagnan takes a last look Athos' way, sighs, and begins.
Author's Note:
Battlescars Two: Light up the Dark tells the story of how, earlier in the war, d'Artagnan was in a patrol ambushed by the Spanish, held captive and interrogated for five weeks during which time he and the other survivor were both raped. They were eventually left to die in oubliettes, and by the time Athos and Porthos found them only d'Artagnan was still alive. Whilst recovering from his injuries he was forced to fight by a heartless General, and put his own life heedlessly at risk to protect Porthos, scaring Athos so much that he sent him back to Paris to recuperate properly. Tréville recognised the signs of d'Artagnan's mental instability and took him to Douai, where Aramis was able to help him come to terms with what happened.
BS 2 was set after the events of Season 3 Episode 5 To Play the King, in which d'Artagnan had to shoot Borel (the mentally-scarred ex-soldier who escaped from the Châtelet during the attempt to break into the King's gold reserves) in order to protect the Queen. d'Artagnan was so disturbed by what had transpired, and the reminder of how he'd suffered at the hands of the Spanish, that the others began to break down his barriers and he eventually told all of them the details which he had withheld from them when he returned from Douai to the front. In BS3 we come to understand more about why he hadn't talked about his experiences with Athos and Porthos at the time, and what happened as a result.