Thanks to everyone following and reviewing this story. I've had a few queries about where Aramis is. He was actually in the last chapter! (Granted he wasn't referred to as Aramis but he was there). He shows up in this one as well a bit more noticeable, and so does Constance for anyone wondering where she is too.
Shout out to beeblegirl who's the closest so far to figuring out what's going on:) It may take a while but there is an explanation coming (from someone you'll never suspect.
I love the song Human by Christina Perri and the one by the Rag n Bone Man. This chapter is named for the Perri version which has a beautiful Queen Anne vid on YouTube and there's a great version of the Rag n Bone Man one with the Season Three antagonists too. Both are really fitting (especially the Queen Anne one, pretty much sums up the poor girl's situation). Oh in case it wasn't clear I own nothing! Not the songs, not the characters, storylines or the show, not even the vids. Those were all created by people much more talented than me, I'm merely showing my appreciation as a fan.
Enjoy!
I can hold my breath
I can bite my tongue
I can stay awake for days
If that's what you want
Be your number one
I can fake a smile
I can force a laugh
I can dance and play the part
If that's what you ask
Give you all I am
Human – Christina Perri
Constance sighed and continued staring out the window. The shop was quiet. All her work for the day was done. There were no customers for her to deal with. No orders to inventory. She'd already re-organised the thread and pins. Twice.
"You may as well go." Constance blinked looking at Louise.
"Go where?"
"I don't know. Get a coffee, take a walk, go wherever young people your age go." Constance didn't know either. She gabbed her bag and wandered down the street aimlessly. Much like Constance herself.
She liked working at Louise's shop. She liked being a seamstress and meeting people, talking to people. But for every person who was grateful for her help in restoring a beloved vintage piece or reseaming a barely affordable dress to fit just right, there were twenty others who barely seemed to notice Constance or wouldn't care if she bled all over their clothes because there was a hundred more they could buy.
Constance liked being a seamstress. She didn't love it. It didn't drive her or inspire her. She wasn't passionate about it. It was a hobby and a useful skill, that was it. Constance wanted something more from life. Something wild and noisy and exciting. Whatever that looked like.
Her mother hinted and probed about men. Her father kept asking her what career she wanted if she wasn't going to be a seamstress. Her former classmates were travelling or getting married or working towards their dream jobs.
The only thing Constance was sure about was being Jacques' wife would have been wrong.
She frowned at the self-pity. Feeling sorry for herself was helping no one, least of all her. Louise was happy to let her come and go as she pleased for the most part. Constance ensured her work was done and done well. She had a source of income and a roof over her head. Now she was going to get a life.
"Where is Marguerite? It is not like her to be so late."
"I fired her last night." Anne frowned at her fiancé.
"Whatever for?"
Rochefort's face morphed into a confused frown. "Why would I not? Her carelessness and incompetence endangered you. The treatment you endured was unforgiveable."
Anne flushed slightly from the memory. And from anger, Marguerite had apologised profusely. "She made a mistake. She deserved another chance. It was not your decision to make." Marguerite was her assistant. Whether she remained in Anne's employ or not was Anne's decision.
"Forgive me. I thought I was helping you. You are too kind." The apology did little to soothe Anne's anger, though she smoothed her features. Hiding her feelings was something she had done since childhood.
Rochefort seemed contrite, but Anne couldn't let it go. More and more, it seemed, he took decisions without consulting her. At first, Anne had been grateful. Louis' sudden death so young, had been a shock. Anne had barely recovered from the illness herself. She had leaned heavily on the support, friendship and advice of Rochefort and Treville. That routine had lasted longer than it should have while she completed her formal education.
Rochefort had developed the habit of making decisions that he shouldn't, assuming authority when he shouldn't. It had only increased when they had gotten engaged. Anne had tried to subtly take back control, but he didn't seem to take any heed.
He was trying to help she knew. He was used to making decisions on Louis' behalf. Louis had given him free reign. And they were to be married, partners, equals. But Anne wasn't Louis. She was the one who had inherited, not Rochefort. And sometimes it felt as if he was not treating her as an equal. As if she was too weak and delicate to make decisions or handle the difficult tasks. Sometimes it felt as if he didn't know her at all.
"Why don't you finish preparing for the gala next week. You have a dress fitting this afternoon, don't you?"
"I need to prepare my speech for it." She excused herself. Unwittingly Rochefort had confirmed what she had started to suspect. She had never told him about the fitting. Someone else had given him that information.
She watched her staff bustle round her meeting rooms in the mirror. Which of them was it? Or was it more than one? Claire and Marie didn't like her, she knew. Or Antoinette and Beatrix? They were nice girls but neither of them thought of anything, but men and parties and they gossiped like fishwives. They could have carelessly spilled information with their indiscretion. Or Marguerite? Anne didn't think she gossiped with the others, but they were not close, and Marguerite may not have realised the extent of what she said.
Rochefort didn't like her confiding in others, he didn't like her having friends he didn't approve of. He was her fiancé, he loved her, supported her, protected her. She should be able to tell him all her secrets. She hadn't noticed so much at first, she'd seen it as friendship and concern for her. But gradually she'd realised he wanted to know everything, wanted to control everything. Almost all of her current staff had been appointed by Rochefort. And even the ones that weren't were now supplying him with information whether she wished them to or not.
Perhaps she was overthinking things, being too sensitive. But the suspicions in her mind would not release her. She needed to get away, escape for a few hours somewhere where she did not have to constantly guard her thoughts and feelings.
The speech was a handy excuse. Her staff promising vehemently to leave her in peace, undisturbed to concentrate.
In reality Anne did not need to think about it. She knew what she had wanted to say as soon as the gala had been suggested.
Public speaking was something that came naturally to her. She had been trained and taught and practiced in the art form since before she could remember. Her words were a power. They could connect, inspire, engage. They could be a sword or a shield. Create bridges or burn them.
Her cadence could direct, defend or defer.
Anne knew the importance her speech would have. She knew what she wanted to say, and she knew if she practiced too much it would be too rehearsed. She wanted to be heartfelt and meaningful not overly trained. Robotic and insincere would not help the cause.
The clothes she pulled on were worn but clean. Satisfied she looked more like an average young woman instead of the heiress she was, she slipped down the backstairs. At this time of day everyone would be elsewhere in the house.
She kept her head down as she crossed the paths but still she felt eyes on her. Instinctively she glanced up. She scolded herself at her mistake deliberately letting her hair fall forward. She had looked straight towards the wing of Rochefort's offices. Hopefully whoever was looking out wouldn't recognise her. She knew few of the guards and men in his specific employ, with any luck they too were unfamiliar with her, especially from a distance.
She had no particular place in mind. She wandered through a park, enjoying the atmosphere. It was a beautiful day. Children chased each other across the grass, calling to their parents to push them on the swings or lift them up to the monkey bars. She stopped longingly at the sight. She loved children. She hoped to be a mother someday.
Sometimes she dreamed of it. A tiny baby she held protectively in her arms. A little boy with her light hair and manner but with the eyes and smile of another. She had loved that boy in her dreams, known he was hers, but she never felt any connection to Rochefort.
It was ridiculous of course, it was just a dream. But while Anne hoped to one day be a mother she could never imagine Rochefort as a father no matter how hard she tried.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the other person until she felt the air leave her body at the force of the collision.
"I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Are you alright."
The other woman looked to be close to her age. She nodded, like Anne trying to regain her breathe in between apologies. Anne caught sight of the dropped ice-cream and immediately insisted on buying another. "I'm Constance."
It felt like they had been friends for years, before she realised it Anne was confessing some of her doubts. Constance understood. "I know I would have regretted marrying Jacques. I know I don't want to be just a seamstress for the rest of my life. I know what I don't want, I'm just not sure what I do want."
In return Anne confided some of her half-conceived plans for the future. She wanted to help France and the world, but she still wasn't sure how. Constance made an excellent confidante. She was logical and intelligent. She gently offered constructive criticism and had her own helpful ideas. Anne almost pleaded to be her friend. Thankfully Constance instantly agreed, delighted with the quickly blossoming friendship too.
Anne was still smiling when she snuck back in several hours later. Her smile melted into confusion as she trod on something. The partly-covered charm glinted as the sun briefly escaped the clouds.
She was still confused when she returned several minutes later and pulled the half-trodden chain free from the dirt. Why was Marguerite's favourite bracelet lying broken in the gardens, in Rochefort's wing of all places?
Steps sounded behind her. Instinctively she hid the broken jewellery in her hand. "Why do you have that?" For a moment Anne thought her discovery had been noticed but Rochefort was staring at her own necklace. She gently tugged the crucifix out of his hand.
"I haven't worn it in a while. It was a whim, I suppose." Truthfully, she was almost never without it. She couldn't even remember where the small bejewelled cross had come from, but she treasured it. Rochefort hated it though – it was too simple or ornate or religious for his tastes – but it represented her faith. Having it close gave her comfort. It made her feel brave and strong and protected, as if she was being watched over. Usually she hid it under her clothes, but she had forgotten to slip it back under her collar after changing back.
Rochefort said nothing. He cast one more suspicious look at the cross before looking at her. "What are you doing here?"
"I was coming to find you, to talk. I never come down here. What is that?" The small stone dwelling sat in the garden. She had passed it many times. It only now occurred to her that she had no idea what it was.
Rochefort dismissed her question. "Nothing of importance." He gestured towards the main residence. "What ideas do you have for the gala? I want to know them all." Anne let him guide her, but the vault still towered in the corner of her eye. Why had Marguerite's bracelet been beside it? Anne needed to make sure she was alright.
Anne d'Athos – once known as Milady de Winter, and never would be again, she had vowed – studied the embossed invitation languishedly. Olivier couldn't care less about it. He'd rather ignore that it ever came at all. She was sympathetic to his feelings. There were likely to be bores there, there always were at these things.
She flipped the small card around. A blue fleur-de-lis shimmered under the light. The card kept turning as she contemplated it. "It would be good for the business," she noted. "There would be a lot of potential customers and connections. Wealthy ones."
Her husband gave a non-committal sound. Anne smiled. She knew Olivier. His passion was wasted on de la Fere Acquisitions. It was to Olivier, as the eldest son, that the responsibilities of the business fell to, it was to Olivier that everyone looked to lead now that his father was dead.
He did his duty, admirably. Olivier had the sharp, objective mind for business. De la Fere Acquisitions had quietly but steadily flourished since he had taken the helm.
"I don't mind going and doing the schmoozing," Thomas piped up with a grin. "But there is such a thing as strength in numbers. Especially with Anne there to help sell your charms." He tossed her a wink which she ignored. Tomas was a fun-loving flirt. She had come across the type often enough. Affluent, good-looking young men who thought they were perfection. All style and no substance. They were easy enough marks. A few minutes of smiles and suggestions and she could ask for whatever she wanted. But they bored easily and couldn't be relied on to tell you the weather outside accurately.
For brothers they couldn't be more different. Olivier was cool and calm, a consummate professional – on the surface, underneath he was passionate, decided and steadfast. Tomas appeared animated, witty and good-natured but there was little depth.
Thank God she had met Olivier, or she may have had to settle for someone like Thomas.
She studied the invitation again.
You are cordially invited to the Louvre Foundation Charity Gala
At the Bourbon Family Fleur-de-Lis estate in Paris.
All proceeds will be donated to the Paris Community Outreach Support Programme
The Bourbons were one of the oldest and most influential families in Europe, and one of the richest. Most of them had succumbed to the various fatal fates powerful, wealthy families like theirs often attracted. There were still whispers about the sudden bout of illness that had torn through the family a few years back. A sister or wife was the head now, though many of the Bourbons' associates had embedded themselves into the fortune.
"It is a good cause and we did receive an invite personally. It would be rude to decline." Olivier's normally perfect stance slouched slightly. He was too well-mannered to insist on declining when she was the one needling.
"We could make it more pleasure than business. Paris is the City of Love," she cajoled. "Why not a honeymoon."
She knew she had won, when he smiled. "You make it sound very enticing."
"I am very enticing."
Catherine was the one to scowl. "Of course she wants to go Oliver. She wants to lord being a de la Fere over everyone there."
The men being present was the only thing stopping her from rolling her eyes. Of course that was why she wanted to go. It was why Catherine wanted to go as well. She was under no illusions with her sister in law. Thomas' girlfriend would rather have been Olivier's wife.
She knew Catherine didn't like but it didn't bother her. The other woman held even less importance to her than Tomas. Catherine was irritating, annoying, boring, demanding, stuck-up and shrill. She was jealous of Anne, pure and simple.
Her closet held more fine clothes than she knew what to do with and her dresser overfilled with jewels. She was no longer Milady de Winter, thief and con artist. She was Anne d'Athos, wife of one of the richest and most respected men in France.
Why shouldn't she enjoy the luxury and influence of her new position. She was never giving it up.
The rakish grin formed out of habit rather than actual intention. So too did the half-bow. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the giggling reflections of the two women as he continued down the corridor. Years ago such an encounter would have left him lighter, joyous, proud. Now he barely felt it.
The old Rene would have delighted in the potential flirtation, sprinted head long into the thrill. But the old Rene had died long ago. Rightfully. Perhaps one of the women would seek him out later as had happened before. They'd have a perfectly pleasant time but that would be it. There would be no attachment. Affection would be limited to that brief encounter.
The old Rene – or more accurately the young Rene – would be horrified at the cold indifference. But it was all this Rene could offer. The Cardinal did not have emotions. It was safer for everyone that way.
Rochefort didn't look up when he entered his office. He knew the blond man loathed him, even when he pretended to be civil his disdain shone through. That was alright. Rene didn't particularly like him either.
He raised a brow at the envelope in front of him. His work often involved a mix of tasks. His talents favoured certain jobs and his skill was unmatched. Yet his employer often sent him on ridiculous, undemanding errands that were a waste of his time, skill and Rochefort's money.
The other man glared coldly when he pointed it out. "I decide, what you do and when you do it. Don't you remember what happened all those times when you made the decisions?"
The bodies flashed through his mind. He remembered very well.
Rochefort handed over the letter and dismissed him. It suited Rene. The less time spent with his employer the better. It wasn't a very Christian thought. If it wasn't for Rochefort who knew where he'd be. Homeless, destitute. Living day to day however he could survive. Probably dead. That last thought sat not uncomfortably.
He passed by the red guards at the gate without a glance. Still he didn't miss the far too relaxed on duty stance, the weapons not properly cleaned and carelessly holstered. Honestly it was a wonder they weren't attacked more often.
Rochefort had been a skilled soldier once but given the state of his men, he made a crap captain. His thoughts turned to Treville as they often did when his mind was particularly idle and introspective. Rene had never interacted with the older veteran himself, but he'd seen him. Even from a rooftop perch the captain's professionalism had been unmistakeable.
The red guards had never liked taking orders from the man but Treville's natural authority barking at them had saved their useless jobs if not their asses more than once.
The man should have been given an actual command not just a ceremonial role. But Rochefort was a man easily jealous and Anne Bourbon's fondness for Treville had ensured limited opportunities for praise elsewhere. It was a pity. Treville would have made an excellent officer. Maybe even one Rene could have proudly served under. He scoffed before that final thought was fully completed.
The Musketeers – Treville's phantom regiment – were inspired to be the best of the best. Chivalry, honour, fraternity. A cold-blooded, oath-breaking murderer like him would have never belonged.
He was where he was because God planned it for him. Rene's sins were far too great to be atoned. He lived as he deserved. An outcast and a murderer.
But I'm only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I'm only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
'Cause I'm only human
Not long now before some familiar faces start meeting. You didn't think I was going to keep them separate for long did you? Next chapter will see a lot of people in the same place and with some interesting reactions, so be sure to come back soon.
So this chapter's question is what is the best episode. I'm going with 2.10. It had action, payoff, suspense and best of some great moments for all the cast: Porthos (mostly) single-handedly taking on the Spanish spy master and his bodyguards and winning; Constance having two of her most iconic, badass moments; D'Artagnan's rescue; Milady essentially proving she can break-in or out of anywhere in Paris; the court scene (one of the best in the show in my opinion); Treville holding a knife to Rochefort's throat and basically telling him to f off; Aramis telling Rochefort to f off and playing big damn heroes; Anne regally telling her obsessive, highly dangerous stalker (who tried to rape her and wants her, her baby and everyone she loves dead! and happens to be holding her prisoner!) to f off despite being alone in a room with him and having 0 way of protecting herself! Athos didn't get a really big badass moment, but he essentially spent all of the previous episode as MVP setting up all the key scenes and any opportunities they had to stop Rochefort in this episode so he justifiably gets the angst and a promotion instead. Even Louis gets a moment attempting to face death with dignity so I'm calling 2.10 the best episode. Agree with me? Have your own suggestions? Let me know in the reviews :)
