It was a funny old world they lived in, no one quite knew when exactly it had occurred, when the human race had evolved in such a manner. But evolve they had and now the world revolved around some very simple concepts, every person in the world had one person who was made just for them. A soul mate of sorts.
There was no issue with that person being of the same sex and once you had found your other half you would live with them and have a happy life.
At some point in history humanity had changed, some mutation had occurred and by the time the 17th century arrived every person on the Earth was born with heterochromia, one eye was the natural colour of the person and the other matching the natural colour of their soul mate.
All but one person in the world, or so Rene supposed for he had yet to meet anyone else that had two eyes of the same colour, he had spent the entirety of his childhood being mocked for being different.
It was something that he had never been able to understand so he always walked around with his head down and avoiding eye contact, it had led to a serious issue with his confidence and a debilitating stutter. When he had reached his fifteenth birthday he met Isabelle, a girl who lived down the road with her family and she hadn't seemed to mind that both of his eyes were the one colour, her eyes almost matched his and she was convinced that he was her soul mate.
That was a time in his life when he was genuinely happy, spending afternoons bathing in the puddles of sunlight which coated the riverbanks, chatting about their days and plans for the future and then that one day when they went so much further.
René clearly remembered the day he found he was going to be a dad, he thought it was confirmation that he had found his soul mate and couldn't wait to have this small person cradled in his arms, someone that would love him unconditionally and not care about something stupid like the colour of his eyes.
The day when he had lost it all would be forever ingrained in his memory like the initials they had carved upon a tree. Getting to their usual meeting place to find Isabelle crumpled in a heap on the bank with a pool of blood spreading around her and low moans haunting in the air. He had rushed her to the nearest physician doctor Pax and proceeded to spend the next few hours in a state of nail biting panic where he couldn't even sit still, one leg bouncing away interminably until the stooped old doctor came out and broke the bad news.
Unfortunately after that everything was a bit blurry, almost as if he was viewing the world from underwater, until he surfaced in the chambers of an abbe in training, in a Catholic seminary with a priest hovering nearby as he bawled.
The baby was lost and Isabelle disappeared.
It had been at this point that he had known she was not his soul mate for he did not feel her absence like a physical ache, it did not feel as if part of him had been cut away and he was left hollow inside, half of himself missing.
He just felt sad.
It was time for him to start a new life, he found the life of an abbe too sedate and dare he say it boring for him, he missed the thrill of wielding swords and sparring. The silent life would kill him before long, he would waste away from sadness and silence until there was nothing left.
So as his life had slowly drained from him he packed up his belongings and left in the middle of the night, sneaking out of the building past the chapel whilst the rest of his brothers prayed, mounted a horse and took off as fast as he could to anywhere that wasn't here.
Anywhere he wasn't known.
That was how he came to be collapsed in the dirt outside the gates of the city of Paris, clothes in tatters and hair hanging long and straggly around his face.
He had ridden hundreds of miles in a couple of days, thighs burning something awful and stomach rumbling. The only stop offs he made was in two rural towns and even then the only food he got was a heel of bread and a hunk of mouldy cheese because he didn't have the coin to pay for it and no one could be bothered to interfere in the life of a peasant man when they had hardly enough for themselves to live.
By the time he had reached Paris his bones were sticking out through his skin, to be honest he looked like a walking corpse with his sallow skin and purple bruises beneath his eyes, and yet still someone had bothered trying to rob him.
Two men had slinked up behind him and jumped him suddenly, wrapping a muscled arm around his neck and cutting off his air supply whilst the other delivered forceful punches to his chest and stomach, driving the air from his lungs and leaving him hunching over as much as he was able.
"Give me your money" one growled menacingly, pressing the point of a dagger to his bared neck.
"I have none" he croaked desperately, pawing at the hand restraining him "I have none I swear"
Mentally he was berating himself for not putting up a fight but he knew he simply was not able, did not have the strength, either mentally or physically to defend himself against these men.
He was tired, so deathly tired of his life.
Would it not be better for him to just let it go, to just surrender to these thieves and allow them to slit his throat where he stood, leave him lying in the gutter in a sea of blood to make his way to the next life.
"I don't believe ya" the knife was pressed deeper, breaking the skin, a bead of blood welling up and dribbling down his throat.
"Es telling the truth Patrick" the other grumbled from where he had finished rifling through Rene's sadly empty purse and patting him down for any other valuables hidden on his body. "E aint got nuffing"
"Damnit" the first swore, giving the man he held captive a little shake "risking our necks ere to rob someone, and we choose one that aint got nuffing on im! Take his boots Jeremiah, doublet too, at least get somefing out of this"
Five minutes later and Rene was left crumpled in a heap, sprawled motionless in the cesspit that made up the back streets of Paris, face smushed against cobblestones and faeces alike. The men had taken the bulk of his clothes and left him shivering in only his braes and undershirt to shield him from the frigid night air.
He was so tired that no matter how distasteful his position, how uncomfortable, he just could not bring himself to move. Since those men had failed to send him to the next world to live in peace, then maybe he could just lay here in the silence of the night, slip off to sleep and never wake up.
It was a chilly night in Paris when Athos came barrelling out from a tavern, teeth gritted tightly and fists clenching and unclenching as he stormed away, muttering ungraciously under his breath. How could he have been so monumentally stupid as to forget his money pouch, it was not as if he was short of coin and needed to try to get away with not paying! He had plenty of money that he didn't mind spending on the oblivion of alcohol, it was money he didn't want… his families' money. But no, he had forgotten and after only his second bottle of wine had been asked for payment and upon discovering he had none, the burly bartender had proceeded to bodily haul him up out of his chair and out of the pub.
So he had to resign himself to wandering the streets in the hope that it would wear him out enough to fall deeply asleep and evade the nightmares that stalked him, not that it would prove as effective as wine, in any case it was worth a try. Upon encountering the busy Paris streets, lined by taverns and revelling Parisians, he decided it was best to stick to the backstreets and avoid any undue mirth if he could manage.
That was how he found himself prowling the alleyways and lanes of Paris, getting lost and ending up on the outskirts that most avoided for their seedy reputation, coming to a halt by the giant city gates.
Rapid cursing flew from his mouth as he found himself suddenly on his hands and knees, palms stinging from where they smacked the ground and he rolled to sit examining them.
"oww"
He was accustomed to pain but it was still sore and he blew gently on the burning appendages, before turning to glare mournfully at what he assumed had been an uneven cobblestone that had removed his feet from under him. To his surprise it was not a cobblestone, but a fully grown man sprawled in his undergarments who he had tripped right over without noticing.
Great a drunkard he thought in despair, and felt a little wash of shame, as he knew if it weren't for his lack of coin, he would be lying in the same state as this poor fellow, only on the other side of town.
"You alive?" he asked as he prodded the man tentatively, prompting a low moan.
Rene felt something pointy repeatedly jabbing him in the side, and it roused him from his daze enough to gather the effort to roll his head to face the irritation and glare balefully at the strange man sitting beside him. What a strange place the afterlife is, he mused distractedly. For he assumed he had not made it to heaven, with his history he was not deserving of a peaceful existence so he debated as to whether he had ended up in some bizarre version of hell, or purgatory.
The hazel eyes of this intoxicated man were striking, even in their glazed, distant state they seemed to stare right through him. Athos had never seen anything like it, both of this man's eyes were the same colour and they were like deep, shimmering pools of despair, which threatened to drag him beneath their depths and refuse to let him go before he was overwhelmed by the same despair. He could only wonder what had happened to this man to put that kind of look in his eyes… other than excessive amounts of alcohol that is.
"You're funny looking for an angel" the strange man rasped "or even a devil if that is what you are"
Definitely drunk Athos concluded and rolled his eyes in exasperation, this was not what he wanted to be doing with his night but, being a gentleman he could not just leave the poor sod here.
"Come on" he said gruffly, gripping him beneath the arms and hauling him into a sitting position "where do you live? I'm going to take you home"
Upon closer inspection now the man wasn't lying in the mud, he could see the sorry state he was really in, bruises mottling his skin and clothes in tatters. Testament to his injured state, he simply lay limply against Athos' shoulder where he had propped him, and if he had to guess that bruising extended down across his stomach and the abused muscles were too sore to use.
"Don't have one, although I suppose it's here now that i'm wherever I am. Heaven or Hell or whatever this strange… muddy place is" Rene mumbled tiredly, "I must admit I had expected death to be much less painful"
Breath hitched in his throat, surprise at the man's words stealing his ability to speak for a few moments. Although he supposed it was hardly uncommon for a drunkard to believe themselves dead.
"How much have you had to drink you idiot?"
"Nothing! I don't drink!"
The poor sod looked so scandalised that Athos couldn't hold back a laugh.
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you"
"It's alright, no one ever does" he murmured mournfully, closing his sad eyes to the pain of the world.
"No don't you fall asleep on me" he felt a little guilty for opening this particular kettle of fish and decided that since he didn't have anywhere to go, he would bring him back with him to the Garrison and more importantly, Treville.
He was much better with people than Athos.
With a great grunt of effort he hauled the smaller man to his feet, throwing a limp arm over his shoulders and supporting the bulk of his admittedly slight weight. Making their way along the quiet backstreets, Athos kept up a running commentary of where the man should put his feet to avoid planting his face back onto the cobblestones.
"Left a bit, a little bit more… that's it"
Finally they made it unscathed to the Garrison gates, and Athos dumped him unceremoniously onto a wooden bench by the stairs to Captain Treville's office that was tilting dangerously to one side, and looked as if any undue weight in the wrong place would send it collapsing to the ground in a couple of pieces.
"Wait here"
Without waiting to see if his order had been heard or indeed understood, he had spun on his heel and ascended the stairs two at a time in his haste to speak to his Captain, the heels of his boots clicking quietly against the hardwood. Seconds later he was rapping swiftly against the rough oak of the office door and waiting impatiently for an answer.
Captain Treville was extremely busy, he had so much paperwork covering his desk it was almost as if there had been an indoor snowstorm that had buried it in its frosty whiteness. All of it was mind numbing reports, inventories and letters from Musketeer hopefuls that required his attention or signature, and he was ridiculously busy procrastinating so he didn't have to see to it.
So when there came a knocking at the door, he let out a grateful sigh and practically sprang to his feet in his eagerness to escape his prison cell of a desk, just managing to curb his enthusiasm before he threw the door open with a massive grin on his face. Instead he stood for a few moments inside the door, composing himself and settling a disgruntled expression on his face he answered the knocking.
"What is it? Oh… Athos, it's you. What can I do for you?" Treville relaxed when he found his best man standing outside his office, knowing that whatever reason he had come to him, it would be a good one and well worth any of his time.
"Would you come with me please sir?"
With a nod of his head in conformation both men turned and made their way back down the steps, an expression of curiosity settling over Treville's intelligent features as he wondered what could have piqued his soldier so.
"Good God" he exclaimed in shocked horror, rushing to the side of the emaciated young man that was sprawled slumped across one of his tables, bloodied hair hanging across his face as his head rested upon his folded arms. He brushed the matted curls away to get a good look at the bruised features, "what happened?"
"I am not certain Sir" Athos coolly observed the actions of his superior, the older man gently palpating each of the man's limbs in search of broken bones "I couldn't get any sense out of the drunkard and had hoped you would fare much better."
"He's not drunk Athos, there's no smell of alcohol on him whatsoever! He has been beaten badly though. Son can you hear me?" he raised his voice slightly as he addressed the senseless man.
The scraggly head lifted slightly to fix that same glazed and despairing gaze upon Treville, and an amused smile spread across his lips "you're just as funny looking as the other one, not at all what I would have expected of the afterlife"
"Son, you're not dead. I am Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers, can you tell me your name?"
"My name… I am not entirely sure to be honest" he scrunched his face up in thought "I used to be known as Rene, or Brother D'Herblay but they don't feel like they belong to me anymore. They feel like the name of another man, of another life. Surely now I am dead you could give me a new one?"
Empathy and sadness filled the Captain's warm blue eyes and he crouched down before the man, resting his hands upon bony knees to ground him and peered up into his face to try and catch his eyes.
"Son, I'll say it again, you are not dead" wide, wondering eyes met his before explosive sobs erupted from the man, shaking the thin frame so badly Treville feared he would shake apart before their eyes. "There there it's alright" he soothed.
"No! It is not alright! Why does death elude me so!" the enraged cry shocked both men standing by and they exchanged a bemused glance before the stranger carried on "I don't want to do this anymore, and the one thing I wish for I cannot have! I'm such a failure that I cannot even die properly!"
Treville was sadly familiar with exclamations such as the one this young man had just made, after serving in and surviving many bloody battles, he had encountered many men who wished they had not made it back from the battlefield and preferred death over the images that would play behind their eyes like their own personal play. He had no idea what had happened to have traumatised this young man so but to him it did not matter, a young man required his help and since he had no children of his own he had a habit of adopting random strays and he had already decided that this man would be one of them.
"Come on then" he hauled the man to his feet and wrapped an arm over his shoulder, unconsciously mirroring Athos' actions from earlier and ushered him up the stairs to his own private quarters, Athos following behind slightly bemused.
The Captain deposited the man on a stool and dragged his tin bath out from the corner of the room, directing Athos to fetch some boiling water and send one of the stable boys with a message for Doctor Lemay.
Athos emerged from the cavernous office slightly dazed, he had hoped Treville would take charge of this strange situation but he definitely was not expecting him to go to this much trouble. It looked like this man was about to come the next him, the next troubled soul Treville would take under his wing.