AN/ Thank you everyone for your reviews! Ii have a feeling that a lot of you have been waiting avidly for this chapter, so please enjoy! :D
Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers.
Chapter Fourteen
November
Having seen the end of September in at the Keep with their extended stay, and with the slow speed of the wagon, it had turned November by the time the three weary soldiers finally reached Paris. It had been just over a year since they had departed their city, and so to set their eyes upon the streets and buildings brought a flutter to each man's heart.
Aramis sat at the front of the wagon, while Porthos rode alongside them. From his elevated position, Porthos was able to see d'Artagnan's face transform with a milieu of emotions as he attempted to comprehend just what it was that he was seeing before him… home. It was at once a totally open and completely guarded expression, a paradox that was only possible because d'Artagnan so desperately wanted to feel, and yet had spent so long in the recent months trying to forget what it was to feel.
Porthos watched his brother, and then looked up to catch Aramis' eye before riding off ahead towards the palace. Their plan was for Aramis to settle d'Artagnan at the garrison, while Porthos would speak with Treville and Constance.
It was odd that, despite his time away, Porthos could remember Paris perfectly. It had certainly changed; it was less busy, and there was a sombre atmosphere as was expected during the time of war, but as Porthos navigated the streets, he found himself effortlessly making his way to the palace, as if he had made the trip only yesterday.
When he reached the palace gates he was greeted by one of the few musketeers that had been charged to remain in Paris for the protection of the King. Matthew recognised Porthos instantly and approached with an expression of relief and concern in equal measure.
"It is so good to see you, my friend!" hailed Matthew as Porthos dismounted. "What brings you to Paris?"
"And you Matthew," the two men embraced. "I've arrived with some especially good news. Please, could you tell me of Cap… apologies, Minister Treville's whereabouts?"
"I'll have someone escort you to his office," Matthew said, beckoning a young lad to their position and relaying his instructions. "Please find me later, I would love to hear news of the Front." Porthos could detect the sound of yearning in his fellow musketeer's voice. While remaining in Paris was certainly a safer venture than travelling to the Front, remaining here was in fact rather difficult for most soldiers, especially when their brothers were out fighting a war.
"I'll see you at the garrison later," Porthos agreed, before following his young charge into the depths of the palace walls.
Once pointed towards the correct door, Porthos found himself pausing, hesitant for his uncertainty as to how the conversation should go. Steeling himself, he rapped on the door firmly.
"Enter!" Treville's voice echoed through the door, and Porthos felt himself stir to hear the man's voice after so long away. He pushed the door open and entered to watch Treville's expression change from one of mild irritation and expectation to complete and utter surprise.
"Porthos!" he finally found his voice. "What on earth…"
"Good afternoon Minister," Porthos greeted with a nervous but excited grin. "I… er… we… that is, Aramis and I, have had to make a short trip home to escort a wounded soldier here safely."
"Only one soldier?" Treville asked, confused.
"We were part of a team sent back to clear out some of the keeps still occupied by the Spanish near the border," Porthos explained.
Treville nodded, comprehending why the two of them would have made the journey as they did; he remembered sending the orders to Athos.
"There's more," Porthos said. "The wounded soldier… it's… it's d'Artagnan."
Treville's head shot up and stared at Porthos uncomprehendingly for a moment before standing.
"I received a report that d'Artagnan was dead," Treville finally said.
"We believed he was," Porthos said. "We all thought… we didn't expect to find him… and certainly not alive."
"I'm going to need a full report, from both you and d'Artagnan," Treville said.
"Of course," Porthos nodded. "We don't know much, but found him a prisoner at the Keep we sieged. He's got a long road ahead of him but, considering the alternative… I'll give you a full account later, but for the moment, I'd like to locate Constance. She should know her husband lives, and he's learnt of his son, so…"
"Of course," Treville agreed. "I'll summon both her and the Queen so we may speak with them."
Treville called a messenger to summon the Queen and Constance to the very same reading room that he had bourn them the earlier learned bad news, before walking there himself with Porthos in tow.
"Constance has been made the Dauphin's official governess," Treville told Porthos as they walked. "The Queen felt the position befitting given Constance's new role of motherhood, and it allowed her to take rooms in the palace, away from the garrison and to have her child with her at all times. Charles d'Artagnan shares the nursery of the Dauphin."
"The Queen in generous," Porthos remarked, not in the slightest bit surprised by the Queen's acts.
"The Queen considers Constance her friend," Treville replied. "Both are truly wonderful women. Stronger and cleverer than most men. Their bond could certainly compete with our brotherhood."
Porthos smiled broadly at the comment as they entered the reading room to discover the Queen and Constance already present. In Constance's arms was a swaddled child and, even from the doorway, Porthos could see the eyes of d'Artagnan looking back at him.
Both women expressed surprise at Porthos' appearance alongside Treville.
"Porthos!" the Queen exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"It is indeed, your Grace," Porthos agreed, bowing to the royal.
"How are you?" Queen asked.
"I am well," Porthos said. "I've made a short trip home with Aramis." At the mention of Aramis' name, the Queen's expression lightened significantly, having clearly gotten the answer she really wanted. Porthos had to force himself to contain his devilish grin.
"Why have you come to Paris, Porthos?" Constance asked, speaking for the first time.
Now Porthos hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
"Porthos has some news for you Constance, if perhaps the Queen would be obliged to hold young Charles for a few moments," interjected Treville. Constance looked as if letting go of her son was the very last thing she wanted to do, but Queen Anne carefully coaxed her to release the child temporarily into her care.
"Constance," Porthos approached the woman, only to receive a resounding slap from her.
"Constance!" the Queen sounded mortified.
"It's alright your Grace," Porthos assured her. "I deserved that. And then some."
"You came back and he didn't," Constance said haughtily, the pain evident in her voice. "You were supposed to keep him safe."
"I know Constance, and I'm sorry. I truly am," Porthos said. "We failed him. We couldn't keep him safe, but we did bring him back."
Constance started at the news, taking a step away from Porthos as the grief clouded her face.
"No wait… I'm sorry Constance, there's… there's no way to make this explanation… there's… oh sod it all… d'Artagnan's alive. Constance, we brought d'Artagnan home alive."
The grief twisted into incredulity.
"What is this nonsense?" Anne interrupted, placing herself nearer her friend in a defensive motion.
"We believed d'Artagnan was dead, but we were sent back to take a Keep still held by the Spanish and found that he had been kept prisoner, and had been for some considerable time. He's in ill-health, but he is alive," Porthos managed to explain somewhat more coherently.
"Take me to him," Constance said quietly as she moved to extricate her son from the Queen. "Take me to my husband immediately."
There was no happiness in Constance's voice, only fear… a fear which, after so long grieving, did not dare to hope.
"This way," Treville beckoned. The Queen watched but didn't join them as Treville and Porthos guided Constance from the room. However, when the three arrived at the gates, they found the Queen had beaten them in arranging transport, as a carriage waited to escort them. The three stepped into the carriage and settled in for the short ride.
"He's really alive, isn't he?" Constance asked softly.
"He is, Constance," Porthos said. "I know you're in shock right now… but it won't take long."
"I don't know why I slapped you before… I'd already forgiven you… but seeing you and thinking he was… I wasn't really aware that I was doing what I did…" Constance rambled.
"You didn't do anything I hadn't wanted to do to myself a hundred times over," Porthos reassured her. "We all tried to convince ourselves that we didn't feel guilty but… well I think the guilt of knowing we could have found him sooner if we'd known he lived… I think I deserved slapping for that too."
"He'll forgive you," Constance said with simple conviction.
Porthos startled at the words, and he was reminded of the conversation that d'Artagnan had had with both Aramis and himself only a few weeks ago, when the man had just been coming back to lucidity.
The rest of the journey was taken in silence, except for the quiet mewling of the child that Constance clutched in her arms. When they finally arrived at the garrison there were only a few of the newest recruits about, and some of the more recently wounded sitting by the tables. There was an odd kind of reverence that had settled amongst the men… clearly they knew of d'Artagnan's revival.
"He's in your rooms Madame d'Artagnan," Serge announced clearly.
The pronouncement appeared to be all Constance needed to spur her into movement. And, as she all but sprinted towards the rooms she shared with her husband, it was clear that all doubt had rescinded.
She all but lost her grasp on the door handle, but managed to push it open, and stopped short at the sight of her husband lying in their bed, pale and gaunt, and horrifically thin and starved looking… but most certainly and irrevocably alive. The sob caught in her throat and she didn't quite remember travelling the last few steps to the bed, only to find herself wrapped in the thin and weak arms of her husband as he too cried upon the arrival of his wife.
"Constance," he whispered into her hair as he clutched at the fabrics of her dress and breathed in her scent and listened to the sound of her breathing in his ear.
When Porthos and Treville caught up, they found Aramis standing near the far wall, trying to be as non-intrusive as possible without actually leaving the room, while d'Artagnan and Constance were wrapped in a tight hug, their son bundled up between them.
The couple remained like that for some time, until finally Constance withdrew, only to reach her bundle towards d'Artagnan.
"Charles, I'd like you to meet you father," she said softly as if she was surprised to find herself speaking the words. "D'Artagnan, I'd like you to meet Charles… your son."
D'Artagnan sobbed and reached towards the babe. He made as if to hold him, but stopped short.
"I don't think… I don't think I'm strong enough to hold…"
"Of course you are," whispered Constance. "We'll do it together." Her voice cracked on the last word – together – but she shuffled forward, pulling herself onto the bed, nestled in the sheets and her skirts before wrapping her arm around her husband and propping him up while supporting his arms as she settled Charles in the crook of his arm.
"See," she said. "You've got this. We've got this."
D'Artagnan let fresh tears spike in his eyes as he nestled against the chest of his wife, and together they held their son against his chest, and for the first time since the ambush just under a year ago, he felt warm.