Constance
She was left alone with the more seriously injured musketeers. The two who were less injured – d'Artagnan and Porthos- had been summoned by Tréville. The Captain seemed to feel guilty about needing them for guard duty, but the Palace's security was now of the highest priority. Especially now that the King had started to suspect that he had been poisoned.
It must be a pretty ineffective poison if he is only sneezing and coughing…I remember Anne's torment very well…
Aramis was still sleeping. She felt tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at him. She had been close to sobbing each time she had had to change his dressings. They had managed to keep infection at bay, but the whip marks crossing his back still looked so… Constance was not sure what word was appropriate to describe them. The wound looked awful-but that word did not mean that she found the injured musketeer disgusting. She just wanted to kill the men who had tortured him. She needed to avenge his pain.
She felt tears fall on her cheeks, and hid her face behind her hair. The musketeers were sleeping, so…
"Constance? What's wrong?"
Trust Aramis to wake up at the worst possible moment.
"Nothing!" she said hastily. "I'm fine."
"I've heard that too many times from d'Artagnan for it to ring true. Can I help you, Constance?"
She shook her head.
"I am here to take care of you, not the other way around," she murmured.
Aramis sat up cautiously, but not cautiously enough. He did not quite manage to hide his wince.
"Do you need something?" she asked.
"Yes. I need to know what is troubling you."
"Is it necessary for your recovery?"
"Yes."
She sighed.
"I… am frightened, Aramis… I want to kill them-the men who tortured you."
"I feel exactly the same way. There's nothing to be afraid of…"
She smiled at him through her tears.
"Is that how you feel when someone hurts your brother?"
"Yes. Especially when that someone does it on purpose."
It somehow made her feel better to know that her feelings were to be accepted, and that they were normal… well, maybe normal for a soldier, not for a woman, but …
Her hand shifted to the pommel of the rapier.
"Did I say something wrong?" asked Aramis, feigning concern.
A sad attempt at teasing.
"You don't need to pretend for me, Aramis...I know you are anything but yourself right now."
He smirked.
"I prefer to pretend… with time, I'll get used to it. Besides, it suits me. It's my way of dealing with emotions. A safe way. And… they need me to be more like my normal self," he whispered. "Otherwise, the guilt will suffocate them."
"Have you ever thought about yourself?"
"Oh, many times. But I don't think I should go into the details with a woman."
She knew what he meant. But she hardly believe in it. Anne had told her enough about their night in the convent.
They sat in companionable silence.
Her heart ached for him as she watched him struggle to find a comfortable way to sit. She could see pain in his eyes. But he turned down the offer of a draught.
"Why…?" she asked, confused.
"Anything strong enough to deal with the pain of these injuries makes me sleepy."
"You need sleep."
"Not a drug induced sleep."
"What's the difference?"
"The amount of time I need to wake up from a nightmare…"
She could not agree with him.
"Do you want me to read some poetry to you?" she asked, recalling the book she had borrowed from Anne.
He hummed in agreement.
"Okay, but only if you promise that d'Artagnan won't get jealous."
"We have never read poetry together…"
Her smile faded.
"Aramis, do you think he… "
Her voice trailed off. She was suddenly afraid to ask the question she wanted to ask. She was a married woman! It was completely wrong for her to be thinking about the feelings of another man!
"He loves you. There is a fine line between the fear of physical engagement and the fear of being rejected. You have be able to feel it."
She should feel offended. She should upbraid him for bringing it up… but he was answering her question. And she knew that this was an even more difficult conversation for him than it was for her.
"I told him once then we could only be friends. Although… my feelings are not strictly of friendship. I was sure that I could avoid… complicating things by going beyond that but… I do love him and… I am afraid that lying to him now may only harm him."
"Constance, forgive me my boldness, but… do you want be his lover?"
"Yes, I do!"
Oh my God! I couldn't wait to blurt out my answer! What am I thinking?! I must be going mad…
She looked nervously at the marksman, trying to gauge his reaction. She was relieved to see him smile, although it was a sad smile.
"That's good. I am happy for him," he replied gently.
Her smile was full of gratitude. There was no other person with whom she could have this kind of conversation. She could not torment Anne by telling her about her hopes and dreams regarding d'Artagnan. After all, the Queen could never hope to have a real relationship with the musketeer she loved.
"Constance, be careful. I… I have no idea how much time he needs... before he will be ready."
You cannot even imagine yourself in an intimate situation…
"I want to kill them!" she growled. The depth of her anger took her by surprise.
"So do I." He put his hand on hers. "Believe me-so do I."
Their conversation flashed through her mind when Aramis finally succumbed to sleep. The door slowly opened, and she lost no time in reacting. Seconds later, she found herself in the front of the intruders, the rapier in her hand. She parried the first attack, taken aback by its speed. She tried to press forward, but had to focus on defending herself against the two masked men.
She darted a glance towards the beds, and saw that both musketeers were alert, their pistols in their hands. That sight reassured her. She almost dodged a wild slash, but felt the pain of the blade bite into her shoulder. But when her opponent tried to reach her once again, she ducked, giving Aramis the opportunity to shoot. She was not disappointed. Her enemy dropped to his knees, his hands clutching his bloody side.
She ignored him, and attacked the second man. He parried her blade, but his own attack was inefficient. Constance, frustrated, kicked the man hard in the knee. It was not enough to bring him down, but it was enough of a distraction that she was able to slice him neatly from neck to abdomen. The man screamed, then fell.
Aramis was beside her in an instant. They secured their prisoners.
"So, I see you're making the same mistakes as d'Artagnan. You are too eager, which leads you to take too broad of a stance. You need to shorten your steps, and move more quickly. Your movements are not economical enough… when I feel better, I'll show what exactly I mean."
"Does that mean that you will spare with me?!"
Athos seemed to be unaware what he was doing, and nodded. Constance could not resist the urge to hug him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He looked stunned by her reaction...and totally confused.
"Careful, Constance, you're sending him into shock," chuckled Aramis. Suddenly, his smile vanished.
"You're injured!" He pointed at a dark stain on her sleeve.
"It's just a scratch." She was suddenly not so sure. She did not feel any pain. Was that a bad thing?
He motioned for her to sit down. She allowed him to check on her wound.
"You need stitches," he murmured.
"Are you up to doing that?" she asked, her voice betraying her concern.
He nodded.
He started to clean her wound. It hurt quite a bit, so she distracted herself by watching Aramis. He was treating her the same way as his beloved brothers. Aramis was always gentle with wounded patients, but with his closest friends, he displayed his affection in every gesture, and in every glance. It meant that he really cared for the person he was tending. His actions were so mindful-so compassionate.
I am one of them… I am his sister…
These thoughts warmed her heart, and made the treatment bearable-even when Aramis poured brandy on her shoulder.
The medic smiled at her. "You'll heal."
Constance mirrored his expression.
She knew she would be fine. She knew Aramis well enough to recognize how he behaved when he took care of superficial, non-serious wounds.
"Thank you, Aramis," she said softly, then turned to Athos.
"Athos, what are you doing?!" she snapped.
He ignored her, focusing on trying to get up from the bed.
"Athos?" Aramis was watching him closely.
"I need to talk with our guests," he muttered.
"You need to lie down!" retorted Constance.
Aramis was already at his friend' side.
"I'll talk to them," offered the medic. "You're right. We must act quickly if they are not to be left to bleed out."
He knelt near on of the prisoners, and started to whisper into his ear. Constance watched as the man's face grew more and more frightened.
"What happened here?!" Tréville was standing in the doorway.
"Would you be kind enough to interrogate these men, Captain?" asked Aramis.
Tréville smirked. "With pleasure!"
Riversidewren, thank you!
For all those who wanted to give Athos chance for assess Constance's skills. Thank you for reading. Your reviews make my day!