Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.
Chapter Nineteen: Happily Ever Afters
"I beg your pardon?" Athos stuttered.
"What do you mean you're the Son of the Sign?"
He growled low in his throat. "I believe that my question is a bit more urgent."
"Urgent?" Elizabeth scoffed, leaping to her feet and planting her fists on her hips. "You call nine months urgent? And I thought it was pretty self-explanatory- I am with child. Now answer my question."
They glared at each other for a long moment before Athos sighed and began his explanation. When he had finished, Elizabeth sat back down heavily on the cot.
"What are you going to do?" she asked finally.
"What should I do? Storm the Louvre and demand the throne?" When she remained silent he continued, "I gave up my birthright years ago, I'm sorry if that disappoints you."
Elizabeth shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "Why on earth would that disappoint me?"
"Because you are Lizabetae dei Medici; without my title, I am not for you." Athos paused, "Unless that's the point, you don't want me…"
"Not when you're behaving like this I don't." she mumbled.
"I'm being serious." Athos snapped.
"So am I," she snapped back, "after everything I've had to put up with because of what I am, do you really think it matters to me whether you are a Count of the realm or a simple Musketeer? Do you really think me so shallow?" Athos shook his head slowly and Elizabeth snorted, "Good. Now, I think Monsieur Trèville should officiate unless you think Aramis-"
"What?"
"The wedding, silly boy. I am not having a bastard child, so you better do the right thing by me or I'll-"
Athos didn't hear the rest. Instead, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her.
When they came up for air, she smiled, "I wouldn't mind a proposal though, if it's not too much trouble."
Athos ran the fingers of one hand down her cheek, "I thought this was you proposing to me?" He winced when she kicked him in the shin, "Alright, alright, leave me something to walk on…"
"Athos…" she growled in a warning tone.
"Elizabeth, my dear Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of becoming the wife of Athos, simple Musketeer?"
Elizabeth sighed and snuggled into his chest, "I'll think about it."
"What!"
She grinned up at him, "I suppose you won't be so hard to love after all."
"You mean you still-?"
"I will. Just give me-"
"Time, I know."
"Don't sound so sulky- now who should officiate, Aramis or Monsieur Trèville?"
Athos laughed out loud.
It could be said that Monsieur Trèville was congratulatory to our dear hero, it could also be said that pigs flew… and both would be wrong.
Monsieur Trèville was absolutely livid at the prospect of Elizabeth marrying Athos.
"I won't have it Elizabeth!" Trèville was shouting, "He is a Musketeer for Christ's sake, do you know the kind of men they are?"
"Hey." Porthos said mildly.
"They are the most loathsome, drinking, wenching-"
"Hey." Porthos said with a bit more force.
"Barbarous group of men on the planet."
"Hey!" Porthos shouted this time.
"Except for the English." Trèville amended.
"Thank you." Porthos conceded, sitting back down.
"And Athos hates women, he'll only hurt you Elizabeth."
Athos' eyes narrowed and he only barely refrained from doing something irreparably damaging to the Monsieur. Mainly because Elizabeth had just leapt to his defense. "Get off your high horse. I know Athos is not the best of men, but in my heart I know he's the best for me."
"We can find you better."
"No you can't"
"Of course we can. With my connections at Court…"
"You just don't get it do you? I want him," she pointed one longer finger at Athos, "and if you're going to continue to be this way about it, you can go shove yourself-"
"Elizabeth!" Aramis jumped in.
"Don't stop me Aramis, this has needed saying to him for a long time. You, Monsieur, are a hypocrite, and if in doing so you're going to deny me my one chance at happiness, then I damn you for it." She turned to Aramis, "Would you like to officiate? Good. Athos, I'm leaving, I can't stand the company in this room any longer." She turned to go.
"I apologize," the voice stopped her.
"It's not me you need to apologize to."
Monsieur Trèville sighed and turned to Athos, "I apologize."
"There's no need," Athos smiled, "You've said much the same things to me before. My bride is simply over-sensitive," Elizabeth snorted at that, "it has something to do with her condition I'm sure."
Four male voices rose in astonishment and Elizabeth turned on her husband-to-be, "You did that on purpose."
"Would I?"
"Yes, you damn well would you-"
"Elizabeth!" Trèville roared.
"Yes?"
"Don't yes me young lady, how could let this happen?"
Athos choked back a laugh.
"Don't you dare." Elizabeth snapped at him. "I'm not sure I understand, do you want me to describe the process? Cause I honestly don't really want to explain to you how I got pregnant in Auvergne."
This was the first time it had occurred to Athos that that must have been the time it had happened, and he felt instant remorse. "Don't blame her, Monsieur Trèville, I for-"
"Forgot to take precautions." Elizabeth interrupted shooting Athos a glance that spoke eloquently on her opinion of his intelligence at the moment.
"Obviously," Trèville snapped.
Elizabeth looked down at her still slim waistline, "Are you calling me fat Monsieur?"
"Is anyone else of the opinion that we are going about all of this all wrong?" d'Artagnan interrupted.
"I beg you pardon?"
"Shouldn't we be offering congratulations, not prejudices?"
Monsieur Trèville blushed into his hairline before taking up Elizabeth's hands, "My dear, if you are certain about this, I suppose I can only give my blessing."
Whatever he whispered in Athos' ear carried a bit more heat, because Athos was seen to obviously flinch away on several occasions and the words 'castrate' and 'wolves' were heard quite clearly.
Athos swallowed hard when he finished, "I won't sir, and thank you."
"If you hurt her, I'll kill you." Porthos said more simply.
"You'll have to get in line." Athos replied.