Welcome back. Was torn between skipping to the first episode rewrite, or showing them settling into life in Paris … the latter won out, as I would have made quite a few leaps that even flashbacks and exposition would be unable to cover without too much or too little information.
Now I begin to drive over Monsieur Dumas and the BBC canons with a freakin' monster truck, occasionally using or utterly disregarding historical maps and road signs, picking up hitchhikers along the way and running over the pedestrians that don't move fast enough.
Warnings for the Canon-Sensitive: Alternative Character Interpretations, Historical prejudices and practices mentioned (and defied), and if the sentence above wasn't enough of a clue, I am not sorry about this, at all.
Ball Gowns and Knives, Part 1
Paris was unchanged, Athos noted, watching the street outside come alive.
It hadn't taken long for him to secure a nice house, not too far from the musketeer garrison, that would still look 'proper' enough for a Comte if Thomas decided to visit. He doubted his brother would, however, given his reaction and refusal to see them off. Athos supposed it was better that he hadn't, however, as the weeks preceding the move had been tense enough with Thomas refusing to acknowledge his choice.
D'Artagnan had spent those weeks watching out for Anne, probably making sure that Thomas didn't try to make her life difficult, Athos had realized with a pang of regret. Thomas wasn't petty by any means, but the fact that D'Artagnan didn't trust him near Anne had Athos wondering if Thomas had done or said something that made D'Artagnan's distrustful nature rear its head.
The distance, however, hadn't stopped Thomas from one last parting shot. Their father had been good friends with the son of the Duke of Nevers, and with the Duke himself, and Thomas had written the old man with news of their moving to Paris to join the court. The Duke, in response, had promptly invited them to a three-night party, along with an invitation to stay on his Paris estate for the duration of the party, celebrating something. Athos hadn't quite been able to read the man's writing at that point, the only thing he knew was that this made his plans to rejoin the musketeers even more difficult.
He couldn't refuse the invitation, not without causing more trouble between him and Thomas, and they did need some allies if the truth of Anne's past ever made it out.
Well, Athos would figure something out eventually, he'd just have to learn the lay of the land first, and then find a way to keep Thomas from finding out that not only had he chosen to keep Anne, he'd rejoined the musketeers and was not being a proper Comte at court.
He'd send a letter to Treville, letting the man know he'd arrived in Paris, and set up a time to discuss it in person. Right now, he hoped the fancy clothes he'd ordered from the tailors would still fit Charles over the next few days- the boy was going through another growth spurt- and that he'd be able to convince the boy to actually wear them.
The gowns were beautiful, there was music, and Anne was utterly bored. She hadn't thought parties like this were boring, from what she had seen looking over walls as a child, but she was considering fainting just to have an excuse to leave.
The dancing had been fun, when she could dance with her husband, or even Charles, during the few time the boy had left his hiding place. (Next time he emerged, she was insisting her take her with him to wherever he was hiding.) Dinner had been nice, though Anne hadn't found much of the conversation all that interesting.
She would be lying if she said she wasn't tempted to try and steal something, just to see if she could, but decided Athos would disapprove of her attempting such a thing, and it wasn't worth upsetting him.
Currently, the women and the men had separated, and Anne had quickly figured out it was a gossip session, something she could easily manipulate in the future, she'd run a few cons like that as a girl. The problem, however, was that it was also a matchmaking session from hell, thanks to the hatchet-faced woman who was currently talking to Anne. The woman also had a hawk like nose that she kept sniffing for emphasis.
"Really, you might get a better offer," Sniff, "but not a better lineage, what with the rise of those commoners earning titles, as if blood didn't matter!" Sniffle-sniff!
It would be impolite to stab her with the teaspoon, Anne had to remind herself, and put the spoon down before someone noticed she was gripping it far too tight. It would also be impolite to throw tea on her.
"And with your ward's appearance, it's clear any children would favor him," Sniff, "but they'd have respectable lineage through their mother," Sniff.
Anne did promise God that she wouldn't ask for anything as long as Olivier loved her, but, Holy Mary, Mother of God, the woman was trying what little patience she had.
"We can trace our lineage to the royal family, you see," Sniff-sniff.
And she'd thought the nuns in the convent had had high opinions of themselves. Well, Anne guessed she owed them an apology for that. They had nothing on this hatchet faced woman, 'Baroness Lamar' the woman insisted with a sniff when Anne just tried to call her 'Madame', and was trying to convince Anne that she should mention her name and that of her daughter's to Olivier in order to get said daughter betrothed to Charles.
"Your Ward won't do better than that." Sniff!
"I will certainly take that into consideration." Anne said, when the woman finally stopped. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the powder room." Anne hadn't even left the parlor when the Baroness's daughter spoke up in a nasally and very whiny tone.
"Mere, I don't want to marry a ward, I want to marry a Comte."
"It's hardly ideal, dear, but the boy is handsome enough," Sniff, "and your children will be far closer to the royal line."
Anne tried not to roll her eyes, and went to find either Olivier or Charles; hopefully, they'd both be in the garden, and they could come up with an excuse to leave.
They were, and apparently Charles was of the same mind as her.
"I thought the plan was to avoid all this stuff." The boy muttered, trying to remove the stiff collar, despite Olivier having just fixed it. "Just go to salons on occasion."
"It was." Olivier sighed, and raised an eyebrow as Anne helped Charles remove the collar. She had a feeling it was irritating the scar on his neck, judging from the way he was trying to pull it away from his neck.
"Then what changed?" Charles demanded after flashing Anne a grateful smile.
"... Thomas wrote the Duke, letting him know we were heading to Paris and I didn't have a good enough excuse to turn the invitation down." Olivier admitted. "And we do need some allies in the court, just in case."
"Thomas wrote the Duke?" Anne blinked. She was pretty sure that wasn't normal for a Viscomte to correspond with a Duke unless they were related.
"He's known to be the favorite," Olivier said, something he had said before while they were courting, Anne remembered. "Most of the nobles that visited were more interested in him, the Duke is no exception."
"Well, he's certainly not my favorite." Charles muttered, not noticing or just ignoring the flash of grief on Olivier's face.
Anne noticed, however, and it took her a minute to remember that Olivier, even though he might have chosen not to give their love up, still did love his brother. She tapped Charles' head, before taking Olivier's arm. "So this means we can't leave early?" She asked, hoping to distract him.
Olivier's eyebrow went back up even as the corner of his mouth twitched at Charles' suddenly hopeful expression. "I'm afraid not, I did mention the Duke also wanted us to stay here for the next few days, did I not?"
"I forgot that part." Anne admitted, after having to deal with some of the mind-numbing conversations, though, she felt justified in wanting to avoid anymore tedious conversations. Oh, Mother of God, she'd have to put up with the Baroness Lamar again. Anne groaned and buried her head in Olivier's shoulder.
"I know why I'm not looking forward to the next two nights, why aren't you?" Charles asked.
"How do I politely tell someone I have no interest in letting their daughter meet Charles, let alone get betrothed?" Anne asked instead of answering him.
"What?!" Charles yelped, voice cracking. Olivier laughed, and Anne lifted her head to look at him.
"Well, you are of age, though I'm surprised at how soon we're getting offers." Olivier ruffled Charles' hair. "Relax, we aren't going to pledge you to anyone, most of these offers aren't serious, just testing the water and hoping if we're not interested, we'll mention them to someone who is. Just tell them we'll consider their offer after the party." Olivier took her hand and gently squeezed it. "Though, I must agree with you, I've had enough for tonight. I'll make our excuses, if you two want to head up to our rooms?" Charles grabbed Olivier in a hug, before just barely stopping himself from running off.
"That sounds good, we'll see you there." Anne kissed him before following Charles to a side door. "Out of curiosity, where were you hiding?"
"I was exploring, though I did find a few places to hide for tomorrow." Charles lead the way up to the rooms they'd been given, two small bedrooms that connected to a small sitting room. "There are a couple libraries, and a part of the garden that's a bit cut off from the rest. I'll show them to you tomorrow."
"Sounds good to me." Anne took of her gloves, "Though I have a better idea of what I'm dealing with, so maybe tomorrow will be better." The look Charles gave her would be more impressive once the boy grew up more. Anne smiled. "Noted. Mind loosening the knots on my corset? I can't bend enough to reach them."
It wasn't long before Olivier came to the rooms, and the trio retired to bed.
"Well, another night, another tedious assignment, guarding nobles while they party." Porthos complained as he struggled to get his left boot off. "At least we're getting room and board, I'd hate having to go back and forth between here and the garrison."
"Indeed." Aramis agreed, removing his cloak and sword, before splashing his face with water and grabbing his hat.
"Where are you going?" Porthos noticed. "Aramis, you aren't meeting with a woman …"
"Angelique is a lady, recently widowed, I'm just going to comfort her." Aramis smiled.
"That's what you're calling it now?" Porthos sighed. "You get caught fooling around on duty, I'm not saving your neck this time."
"I would expect nothing less, besides I'm not on duty." Aramis grinned and tipped his hat, before disappearing out the door.
Porthos lay on the bed for a few minutes, debating about whether or not he should follow, before deciding Aramis couldn't get into too much trouble, as long as no one spotted the pauldron. With a shrug, he pulled out a folded letter. He'd received it over a month ago from D'Art, but he was pretty sure there was more to it.
'Porthos,
Athos, his wife Anne, and I are moving to Paris, don't know exactly when we'll get there. There's been some problems with Athos' younger brother, and Athos decided they needed some space to cool down.'
Porthos could just imagine D'Art wincing as he wrote that, probably realizing that he'd given Porthos a bit too much information, though not enough to form a complete picture.
Athos having a younger brother was a bit of a surprise, he'd never mentioned it while they were training, though what exactly the two brothers had a falling out over was carefully omitted. It must've been fairly big, though, if Athos was moving back to Paris.
'Anyway, I think you'll like Anne, she's like Flea. I've told her a lot about you and Aramis, so she's interested in meeting you both. Well, she's interested in meeting you, she's reserving judgment on Aramis until after she meets him. She's not sure what to make of my description of him.'
Porthos snorted at that. It wasn't easy to describe Aramis to anyone, without giving them the wrong idea. Though the parallel between Athos' wife and Flea was odd, it could mean a few things, their personalities were the same would be the most obvious, but something told Porthos that wasn't it.
Why would Athos' wife be interested in meeting him, anyway? It wasn't like he was anything special, just a kid from the streets that worked his way up.
'Love, D'Artagnan
P.S. My hand to hand needs work- I keep tripping over my own two feet!'
Well, that last didn't need much explaining. The boy was going through a growth spurt, and having trouble adjusting. Porthos refolded the letter, and smiled. It would be good to see the whelp again.
Aramis, meanwhile, scaled the trellis underneath the widowed Angelique's bedroom window. He got caught, he could claim he was merely testing the other musketeers on duty, he figured.
It took a moment of fumbling, but he got the window open and slipped inside. He moved to the bed, and promptly got a knife at his throat the instant he touched the woman's shoulder.
"Ah, sorry, must have the wrong room." He raised his hands and tried to smile winningly at the woman who was glaring at him. He winced a little at the click of a pistol from the shadows next to the opposite side of the bed. Just his luck, the woman's husband was here too.
Porthos would kill him when he found out. He closed his eyes when someone lit a lamp.
"Aramis!" The voice that said his name was young, and Aramis opened his eyes when the knife was pulled away. It took a moment of staring at the boy, and the dark scar on his neck that was normally hidden by a scarf, before his mind processed what he was seeing.
"D'Art!" Aramis smiled, before realizing what that meant. "Athos …" The man was in a sleep shirt and breeches and looked like he was either amused or seriously going to shoot him. It was hard to tell which. "Sorry, got the wrong room."
"We'd noticed." The woman, (Athos' wife, Anne, his mind supplied) said dryly, putting the knife away. "So, you're Aramis, Charles has talked a lot about you. I'm Anne."
"A pleasure to meet you, Madame," Aramis bowed, "Forgive my intrusion, I hope I did not cause you any distress."
"I'm sure the pleasure is ours, M. Aramis."
D'Art snorted, and then all but tackled Aramis in a hug. "Missed you." He muttered when his face was buried in the man's doublet.
"Missed you too, pup." Aramis hugged him tightly. "Porthos is going to be jealous, he's been hoping to see you first." Aramis paused, loosening his grip to look at D'Art. "Why are you attending the duke's party?" These rooms were set aside for guests, though not all were strictly nobility. Madame Angelique was merely a lady, but had been invited as her husband had been a successful investor and businessman, and more than a few wealthy merchants were gracing the halls, by virtue of having the duke as a patron.
Come to think of it, he had no idea of what Athos did, other than he had some nobility in his background.
"The Duke's son was an acquaintance of my father, and the Duke took an interest in our family." Athos explained, shrugging, before putting the pistol away. "I take it Porthos is here as well?"
"He's sleeping, been standing guard in the garden most of the day." Aramis nodded. "He'll be glad to see you."
"Will you both be there tomorrow?" D'Art looked up hopefully, and Athos snorted.
"Well, that answers what you'll be doing tomorrow." He noted, ignoring D'Art's smile. "I think we'd all prefer to meet in the morning."
"Right, sorry about that." Aramis apologized, giving D'Art another hug, and politely bowing to Anne. He was about to go out the window when Anne spoke up.
"You could just use the door, Madame Angelique is in the room next door." She pointed at the wall in question, smiling at him.
Aramis smiled back. "Right, if you'll excuse me." He headed out the door, trying not to move too quickly, yet fast enough so they weren't bothered by his presence much longer.
As the door closed, he heard Anne speak again.
"Well, this is going to be interesting."
Some historical notes, and explanations:
Duke of Nevers- At this time, it was Charles I Gonzaga, I believe; his grandson, Charles III inherited the title in 1637, and eventually sold it to one Cardinal Mazarin in 1659. The party was probably celebrating the grandson coming of age. (Charles II never inherited the title, it went from Charles I to Charles III, presumably, he died.)
Most nobles had two homes, one in their lands, and one in the capital, usually so they could attend court functions. Depending on the noble, some never traveled to court, preferring to stay in their own lands, others stayed in court trying to further their influence with the royals (sometimes with the consequence of neglecting their lands). Nobles at court did have parties that were ways of showing off their wealth and influence, and one didn't refuse an invitation lightly, the royal family might not attend, but the reputation of lesser nobles depended on being invited and being at the parties.
Corsets- utterly annoying things. Wore one once, to try it on, and swore never again. You can't bend enough to tie or untie the damn things by yourself; and in this time period, they would have been made of whale bone and tied as tightly as possible- somewhere between strangulation and shallow breathing, hence why women used to faint all the time, they literally could not breathe in those things. I suppose looking good in a dress was worth not breathing. Bodices are little better, but still require a degree of help to get on and off, depending on the style.
I didn't plan for Aramis to meet them first, in the outline, it's written 'Porthos meets Milady and D'Artagnan in the garden.' How that changed into Aramis climbing into the wrong window, I don't know.
Please, leave a review, and if you have suggestions for the story, don't feel shy about saying them!
