Disclaimer: I do not own the Three Musketeers.
Okay so last bit of filler before the meat of the action. Basically Charlotte is in denial and is not good at it.
Read and Enjoy!
It was probably the most dangerous thing she had ever attempted, but Charlotte had no choice. It had to been done or she would do far worse if she let it be.
"Well, that's quite a pickle Cherie."
"That's one way to put it."
She sat across from Madame Flori in the back of the Salon, a plate of sweet dates and tea between them as Charlotte confided in the older woman. Madame Flori was more than understanding once she had seen the look on her face and shooed out her assistants to give them the much-needed privacy. It took two full cups and a handful of the dates to tell the story.
She kept it brief at best, mentioning only the important details of the previous day.
Flori poured extra milk into her own tea with a thoughtful look. "What is it that's worrying you Cherie?"
Charlotte stopped chewing on a date and eyeballed her. Hadn't she heard anything? "I'm worried because one, he's an overconfident arse. Two, the enemy." She reasoned.
"So you're attracted to him. What's there to be worried about?"
The seamstresses blunt summery made Charlotte blanch. Did she like the Duke? Defiantly not. Was she attracted to him? ...
"It's not right." She argued her point with all the confidence of a pouting child. "Even if I found part of him slightly pleasing ... it's nonsense."
"My word Charlotte. You're acting like the mere thought of it is treason." Flori chuckled.
"It might as well be."
"It's far from uncommon to yearn for someone unattainable. The amount of times I've had girls younger than you bemoan for a man ..."
"I am not yearning." Charlotte huffed. "And there is no way I'm about to wax poetry for Buckingham. The man most likely does it for himself."
"Why are you so adamant to see it as a bad thing?" Flori raised her hand to stop Charlotte from answering. "You said he is 'the enemy' no? But is he your friend's enemy, or your enemy?"
"It ... would be the same really."
Flori shook her head. "That is just an excuse Cherie and you know it." She teased.
"I just ... It ... The whole thing ... I think ... Gah!" In the end, Charlotte buried her face in her hands and groaned. Flori watched her with both amusement and sympathy and add an extra spoon of sugar into Charlotte's tea. "Why him? Why not Armimmm..."
"What was that dear?"
"Nothing!" Charlotte pushed her hair back and sat back into the plush seats.
"Well," There was a knowing glint in Flori's eye as she handed a cup to her. "Regardless of how much you deny it, it is good you talk about. Helps process it all."
"Thank you." The tea was sweet and hot, just how Charlotte like it.
"Oh and don't you worry your pretty little head. I swear upon my honor not a soul shall hear of this."
Porthos was right. She did have a big heart.
"This is the Parisian life, I'm afraid." Flori sipped at her tea. "Some live for it, others just stand at the sidelines and watch. A far cry from a simple country life. But are you enjoying it here Cherie?"
"Very much so." Charlotte bite inside of her cheek. A question had been burning in her mind. "Madame? You've known my mother for a long time, right?"
"Of course."
"And you knew my father."
"Mostly through reputation." Flori chuckled.
"Do you ... know why my parents decided to leave Paris?"
It might have been the worst thing ask the bubbly woman, as she froze an all the colour in her face vanished. "Oh ... did Sophia not talk about it? I mean ... their youth?" She asked.
"Mama and Papa are quite secretive about it. I didn't mind it so much but since I've been here, I've been ... curious." Charlotte told her quietly. Flori tapped her fingers on red brocade covered bosom nervously.
"Well I cannot speak for Sophia, or Marius for that matter. What they wish you to know or not know is their business."
Charlotte lent forward, bracing her hands on her knees tightly. "Just ... if there is anything you could tell me, I would be grateful."
The older waved her hand, tying to pass off that she was only vaguely remembering things. "Oh, I only know a handful of the details. There was some spat that went on. A fight. Dreadful business and what not. It broke Sophia's heart to leave, but she thought it for the best and once she makes up her mind, not even Marius could change it."
That got Charlotte's attention. "Wait. Mama thought ...?" She straightened up. "Wasn't my father the one who chose to leave Paris?"
"What? Marius?" Flori shook her head. "The man would never run from anything. What has Sophia been telling you? No, no. Your mother knew if you'd stayed, Rochefort would nev..." Flori very nearly chocked on her own tongue to silence herself as she realised she had said too much. Charlotte on the other hand hadn't heard enough.
"Rochefort? What did he do? Tell me!"
"Madame!" The thick curtains suddenly opened as a frazzled Piere came into the back. "Please Madame. The Baroness is about to through a fit about the riding coat." He was on the verge of tears. "The lining is the wrong colour."
There was a sigh of relief from the seamstress. "Oh dear, I knew she would change her mind." Flori offered an apologetic smile to Charlotte. "I am sorry Cherie to cut Tea time short, but duty calls."
"I understand." Charlotte said with a stiff lip. The new information had her spinning with more questions. Flori held out her arms expectantly for Charlotte, who stepped into the death grip of a hug as she was crushed into the woman's breast.
"If you still need an ear, I'm always here." She rubbed her back softly. "It helps to talk my dear."
"Thank you." Charlotte sounded like a child finally being pardoned.
"Madame, now!" Piere pulled them apart and pushed Flori out into the main floor.
It was quite the sight when Charlotte followed them out, the girls all rushing about with varying shades of purple fabrics as the afor mentioned Baroness, a woman dress for someone twice as young as her, threw herself at Piere and Flori in a fit of drama the monopolised the whole salon's attention. No one paid Charlotte any attention, so she plucked up her cloak and headed out the door. It was a brisk day out, so much that Charlotte kept tugging the cloak tighter around her. It was a short walk to the waiting station where she had left Buttercup, but in the cold it felt longer. As she rounded the corner, the locals around began pointing up to the sky, growing louder with their exclamations to God and to each other. Charlotte looked up herself to see the English Air Ship taking off from the palace and turning west for home.
"And so, he leaves." Charlotte muttered to herself and left the crowds to gawk at the flying innervation. Of course, Buckingham would leave as dramatically as he had arrived, all style and no substance. Well ... not true there was some substance, but nothing good.
Charlotte made a point to keep her eyes at the ground.
Buttercup looked up from the hay trough at the click clack of her boots as Charlotte stomped towards the horse, spooked from her rider's sour mood, but once Charlotte scratched at a sweet spot behind her ear, she knew it was not her fault. Charlotte swiftly mounted the horse and gave her a slight kick to get her trotting. While speaking with Madame Flori had helped in a way, the older woman's flippant attitude did nothing highlight her issue.
She didn't want to be told her attraction was normal, she wanted to know how to stop it. To forget the way he had fixed those dark eyes on her, filled with such visceral want that repelled and compelled her. There was ... something there that wasn't an adrenaline addled notion that kept her up the night before. And that was what angered her. She sat ridged in her saddle as directed Buttercup back homewards. No one seemed to notice when she started grumbling to herself.
"Of all the damned people it could of been .. Mmmggnnfff." Charlotte rubbed a hand roughly over her face, carding her fingers through her hair as she pushed it back and sucked in a long, deep breath of cold air. Hopefully it would cool the hot flush on her face.
Even on a rather dull day, the city was still remarkable to see. Charlotte found herself leading Buttercup around lazily. There were no clear between the humble working class and those sporting noble roots and money, the two blending seamlessly together in a palette of colour. One of the main strips was blocked off by a broken cart wheel so Charlotte took Buttercup down as much smaller street of apartments and the backs of shops. It was so peaceful, it was hard to think that it was in the middle of the city. There was even a bakery along the way, filling the street with a mouth-watering smell of fresh bread and sweet glaze. As she got closer, Charlotte halted Buttercup just outside the back door where bags of flour were stacked up.
The smell of burnt sugar hung about, thick and sweet.
The face of her father flashed before her, peering down at her with a wide smile.
Charlotte blinked the image away.
It was a memory. One of her earliest. It was now she noticed the building left to the bakery. It was small, the colour akin to gaudy yellow, cracked and weathered from time. It was once so much brighter.
"Well I'll be damned." Charlotte sighed. This was her parent's home. Her old home. Another memory suddenly resurfaced. Her mother in the doorway with her skirt bunched up under her tiny hands as she held onto her, rubbing her cheek into the fabric.
A large man in a white hat and apron came out of the bakery door and hefted a bag of flour over his shoulder.
"Excuse me, Monsieur." Charlotte called out before could head back in. "So sorry to trouble you."
The baker turned awkwardly and gave Charlotte a thorough look over as she dismounted.
"Yes? How may I help you Miss?"
"This property. Who owns it?"
The baker glanced over at the yellow building. "Oh, that old place." He adjusted the sack on his shoulder. "I do. It's just a small investment. I get tenants coming on and out all the time."
"Is it currently occupied?" Charlotte hedged the question carefully.
"Not for a few months. Why? You keen?"
"I'm ... curious. I've just arrived in the city."
"Ah," The man gave a knowing nod. Charlotte plastered on a charming smile, "Would you mind if I had a look?"
Of course, the baker took a moment to consider whether he would or would not. Her getup may have given reason to be wary, but he gave his consent and went to fetch the keys. He unlocked the door and gave instruction for her to inform him when she was done so that he may lock up after her.
The narrow staircase had seen better day, each step was scuffed white from use and the wood was warped ever so slightly. Charlotte took every step with care. The room fared much better than the stairs, with only a handful of cracks in the corners and in the roof.
It was bigger than she remembered, but still yellow. Charlotte unbuckled her scabbard and sword and lent them by the doorway. There were no chairs, tables, not even a shelf to fill the void and that made Charlotte sad. Even the small side room into the back was bare.
Mother and Father's room.
The beam of sunlight still hit the same spot from the window, over a black spot in the floorboard. Charlotte sat on it, as she did when she was little. She bent her knees and wrapped her arms about herself.
She sat there for the longest time, staring at the four walls of what was once her whole world.
Now she remembered A little more. She had a little cot by the door, all her dollies lined up on it to keep them off the floor to stop her father from stepping on them. There was also a chair they'd kept by the stove, thick and plush with hand stitched cushions. Charlotte was often steal one and cuddle with it.
'What did Papa call it? Oh yes. Lord Le Poof.'
Had they stayed in Paris, her life might have been very different. Most likely she would have been a lady of sorts, or indeed Madame Flori's assistant from a young age.
She would have been a very different person. Probably closer to the image her mother had wished for her.
'Mother.'
All this time, Charlotte had been sure the choice was Marius'. They always made it seem that way, what with her mother's reminiscing of their youth and how she missed it. Charlotte didn't know how she should have felt. On one hand, it wasn't that they had lied about and had simply not told her anything. And on the other hand, it was because they hadn't told her anything, choosing to leave her in the dark. It got Charlotte thinking. Flori had something about a fight and let slip a name.
Rochefort.
"Miss! Miss!"
Charlotte jumped from her seated position to her knee.
How long had she been sitting there? She got to her feet and smoothed down her rumpled clothes. "My apologizes. I didn't mean to take so long!" She called back, fumbling with her scabbard around her waist.
The baker was at the foot of the stairs wringing his apron into a ball. "No, no Miss. But ..." He shrugged his shoulders up so high his neck all but disappeared, "I tried to stop him."
"Him? Whose him?" Immediately, Charlotte began thinking of the worst-case scenarios as she rushed by the baker. When she got to the street, it looked as though nothing had happened at all. Buttercup was still standing where she had left her, none of her belonging were missing, so what had got the man so worked up.
"The official was most adamant. I told him you were just upstairs but his wouldn't listen. I was watching your horse and everything." The baker babbled on and on as Charlotte saw the slip of yellow parchment pinned to the saddle.
"It's alright, Monsieur." Charlotte said with a sigh. She yanked the citation off and read the message left alongside the fine.
'Five Francs. Interfering with traffic in small pass ways. Is the Lord God testing you again today Charlotte?'
The message was smaller with rushed strokes of ink, almost like an afterthought. Charlotte looked both ways to see if the offender was still in sight, but found nothing. With a shake of her head, she pocketed the citation as she turned her attention back to the still rambling baker.
xxxx
Charlotte was home well before the other three at sun down and wasted no time settling herself across her bed with a cup of wine in her hands. She felt tired and withdrawn, like the last few days had finally caught up with her. Her arms and lower back burned and her temples throbbed slightly from all her over thinking. The wine helped mellow her. Below, Planchet was plodding around with his chores.
The sky on the other side of the window had grown dark as the clouds turned the colour of soot. Charlotte curled and uncurled her toes in the rough cotton, her eyes drooping ever so slightly. There was a bang as the downstairs door slammed shut, announcing the arrival of one of the Musketeers. Charlotte guessed Athos.
She was wrong.
Aramis stepped into the room, stripping off his over cloak and tossing it over a chair. He looked exhausted and frustrated, a very different side Charlotte was unaccustomed to seeing. Aramis finally noticed her watching him and straightened himself.
"Evening." He said, making his way to the jug of wine Charlotte left on the table.
"Hello." Charlotte responded softly, turning most of her attention to her own cup. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Aramis giving her an odd look as he poured himself some wine. He downed it in one go. "You pick any more fights today?" He asked playfully, but all Charlotte could do was shake her head.
"No. I just went to Madame Flori's. That's all."
"Really?" Aramis moved about the room slowly. "Well, I had quite a productive do. My hand is a bit tending from writing so many tickets."
"Oh."
"Oh?" Aramis cocked a dark eyebrow at her, "No clever quips or retorts?"
Charlotte shrugged.
Aramis placed his empty cup on the table and walked slowly to the bedside. He stood over her while Charlotte took a sudden interest in the colour of her cup.
"You haven't been yourself today." He stated bluntly. Charlotte took a sharp intake that made her nose whistle and Aramis chuckled.
"You noticed that?"
"Hard not to. You were quiet last night." His voice took on a light edge, half concerned, half accusing. "Seemed out of the ordinary for you Charlotte."
"Well, you haven't known me that long. Sometimes I like a moments peace."
"Perhaps." Aramis said. "But you strike me as a woman who has no qualms at voicing your opinion, on everything."
He had Charlotte there. Just how observant was the man?
"You've been off since your duel …. with Buckingham."
Very observant, it would appear.
"It's nothing really. Nothing you need to concern yourself with at least." Charlotte tried to brush off the issue but Aramis was not having any of it. He cupped his hand tenderly under her chin and lifted it so that she was forced to look at him.
"Did Buckingham say something to you?"
"No."
"Charlotte." Aramis chided. "Please don't lie about this."
"He didn't say anything." She could feel him staring at the red cut on her cheek. Yes, the Duke had violated the rules of the duel but so had she. It was just a scratch. "Honestly Aramis. I …. have been a little homesick. Madame Flori and I talked about my parents and I am missing them, a little."
Aramis face softened a little, his hand falling from her face. "I see." He sighed. The mattress dipped as he sat himself down, his hip bumping her side.
Charlotte reach for his hand and threaded her fingers between his, squeezing ever so slightly. She felt awful on the inside but it was for the best, even if it meant concealing the truth to her new friends. "While I appreciate, I would hope you would have a little more faith in my own judgement. I know a trompeire when I see one."
"Well that's good to hear." Aramis said. He placed his other hand over her's, enveloping their clasped hands entirely.
"I apologize if I seem overly concerned, but … Buckingham is not a man to take lightly. He has a way of getting to others."
"Don't worry Mother. I'll be ever so careful around the big, bad Peacock."
"Oh, so I'm Mother now?"
"Well I can hardly place Athos in such a tender role. Too stern."
"I can be as stern as him."
"Oh, with such flowery word like yours Aramis? Never."
And for that, Aramis gave her arm a solid pinch and Charlotte gave a sharp yelp. Aramis immediately apologized when he realized it was the arm with the only recently healed bullet graze. Charlotte laughed off the pain as Aramis gently rubbed the wound. The touch was warm and familiar, soothing to her senses rather than setting it alight like a fire.
She wished it did, if only to erase the memory of Buckingham.
xxxx
Even in her dreams, Charlotte couldn't help but pick a fight. She couldn't tell remember what started it, or how she ended up here but I had to fight this fight. Her opponent ... Who was her opponent? The world was a collage of colours rushing past her so fast she could only just make out the figure lunging at her. The sword in her hand felt familiar in her hand, but everything else about her didn't feel like it wasn't her own skin, heavy and unsure around her soul.
The walls closed in and the fight came more contained, more vicious.
"You are a damn fool." She assumed it was opponent's voice baited her. "All your swaggering and your boasting, all for nothing." That voice became more familiar as it went on and Charlotte snarled. It was Rochefort. Figures she would dream of the fight she never got, but she never thought she would be losing like this. "You are a disgrace D'Artangan!" What felt like a brick more than a foot hit her lower back and Charlotte fell forward, catching herself on her knee awkwardly.
'Can't fall. Can't fall now. Get up.'
Charlotte's eyes focused at last and the figure of Rochefort took on a more solidly defined form.
He appeared ... Not how she anticipated he would appear. He was younger and still maintained a deep set scowl that was pulled back into a threatening sneer. His eye patch was absent and now two storm coloured eyes stared back at her.
"For the love of God man, enough of this."
Those were not her words. And yet they poured out from her mouth, urging and almost pleading.
Rochefort spat at the ground. There was a woman's cry to the left, begging for the fight to stop. Charlotte looked around and bit back a gasp.
Her mother.
She was crying, face flush red that stood out against her cream dress. In her arms she was clutching a small child to her, pressing the small figure into herself so hard it like like she was suffocating it. The child was small, barley a bag of bones in the blue smock. A small face peeked out from the brown curls.
'Oh God, that's ...'
The child let out a shrill that pierced her ears, a small link finger pointing out and Charlotte spun back into to see Rochefort charging at her. There was no time, she was not fast enough. The blade's point was aimed at her heart. With a wild, powerful swing she went at him.
"MARIUS NO!"
xxxx
It was like falling. The rush of the action leaving her cold and panting. Only she hadn't been falling. She was still on the bed, her lower back stiff from the position she had fallen asleep in. Sweat gathered at the base of her neck.
What was that?
Charlotte snapped her head up to assess her surroundings. It was night now, and all three musketeers were present, plus one. It took Charlotte several seconds to comprehend that Constance was standing there with them in the tiny kitchen. Clearly, she had missed something. Constance, who always held herself with a calm poise, appeared distraught and Porthos had an arm around her.
"Glad you can finally join us." Athos said as Aramis unfurled a leather bag across the table. Charlotte carefully stood up to see a plethora of guns and knives covering the wooden surface. "We may need an extra hand."