Where It All Began And Ended

by TheHoodedAssassin

Athos thought that leaving Paris, he was leaving all heartache behind, but he is reminded that happiness never lasts long for him, when his family is once again struck by tragedy. Now struggling not to fall back into old habits, he returns to Paris, where even more misadventures await him.

1. Chapter 1

Prologue

SYLVIE POV

The ride to Paris is short. Less than a day, with five stops, and slow horses. It's much shorter than she remembers it to be. Much shorter than she wanted it to be. Not enough time to think, plan, talk. The ride to Paris is much shorter than the one they made away from it. And it's not only the time that is lacking. It's also the happiness. The excitement and anticipation.

A child.

When she was leaving Paris with Athos to build their family away from all the politics, wars, and tragedy, she had no clue as to what was to come. She could have never imagined that their happiness and love would end less than two years later. She never could have imagined that her child would die less than a month after its first birthday from a sudden illness. Athos had asked her to move away when the neighbors fell sick. But she couldn't leave the school she had built from the ground. She couldn't leave the poor children who were in need of an education. And now she was left without her daughter. It took less than a day for the sickness to drain their little Cecille of all strength, and by the next morning she was gone.

Athos was not there when it happened. He was gone for a week, and by the time he returned, Cecille had been dead for 3 days, and buried for 2. When he learned about what happened he wrecked their room, ripping the curtains to shreds and broke Cecille's bed before throwing it into the fire. He spoke no words, ate no food, and drank barely enough water to keep himself alive, until half of their home was torn down or burnt. He then told her to pack her things, because he would not stay there ever again..

Since then his demeanor has changed. He closed off, avoided her eyes prefering to keep his hat tilted down, and spoke in a tense and apathetic way no matter what the subject at hand was. He would stand by their daughter's grave for hours and look at a bottle of wine in his hand, contemplating whether he should drink it. He would then throw it at a rock and walk away.

She would not mind it much, if not for the amount of money he spent on each bottle of wine. He had never told her how much money he has, how much he earned as a musketeer, and how much he earned working at any odd job he could find. Because he could not find any stable job like every other man in town. He had tried teaching swordsmanship, but soon quit when the only boys whose parents were willing to pay for his lessons could barely hold a sword. Athos was a patient man, but according to his words no amount of time could make those young men into even half decent swordsmen, and he did not wish to spend his precious time on these fools. After that he tried working with wood, and steel, but had very little luck there. That is how he found himself looking for work away from the little town. The work would take him away for days if not for weeks, which is how he ended up not being present when Cecille passed away.

Since he destroyed their house, they were forced to stay at an inn. A few of her friends offered to take them in, but Athos ignored her pleas and paid for a room at the inn in advance for a month. She found herself staying there, because Athos would sit most of the night in the tavern with a glass of the most expensive wine, until he would give in to his worst temptation and drink the wine. Telling him that it was a dangerous path had no use. He drank one glass every night, and smashed an entire bottle at the graveyard. If before he was regarded with caution, now he was regarded with contempt. All their neighbors and friends avoided him, and a young couple later confessed to her that most wanted to see him gone, especially since he decided to set foot in the church. The sacred sanctuary that was no place for the arrogant drunk and snob that Athos was. According to them, he would sit in the furthest corner, ignore those who bothered his solace, and open his mouth only to insult God.

That is when she realized that it was time to leave. Their daughter was dead. The house they built together was in ruins, as was their relationship. And Athos was losing his mind. He needed his friends, he needed something to busy himself with. He needed Paris. She was grieving the loss of Cecille, but she would not grieve for Athos, for she would not let it get that far. She needed him, and if he needed Paris, then so did she. She closed down the school, packed her few belongings, and got herself a horse.

He said nothing when she announced her decision, but she could see that he was grateful when he tilted his head in agreement, and for the first time since the death of their daughter he didn't seem so void of emotions. What she failed to see was the dread. For he was happy to see his brothers, but dreaded their reactions to the occurances of the last couple of weeks. By burning down their home he showed that in truth he did not change. He was still the man who hung his wife without a trial. The man who was willing to die at his wife's hand if only it meant that all torment would be over and he would die in her embrace. He was still the man who tried to strangle his wife, because it was easier than admitting to himself why he had first kissed her. But Sylvie had never seen that man. She didn't know that it was the man she had loved, neatly hidden under a mask of confidence and contentment.

She was confused by his decision to go to church. After all he had mentioned many times that he didn't believe in God. And upon remembering that Aramis had much knowledge of all things religious, she decided that she would have to speak to him for Athos. Because she didn't know that Athos was raised as a Catholic and had frequented the church oftenly when he was young. But she didn't know about his childhood. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know what he had done. She only knew him as Captain of the Musketeers, battle worn, and distressed by his mentor's death.

And now that they returned to Paris, where it all began for her, where it all began and ended many times for him, she could see a different mask slip onto his face. She could see how he straightened his shoulders, how he fixed his clothes, and attempted to do the same with his hair. She could see that she was a fool to believe that their happiness would have lasted long away from Paris, away from the Musketeers. She saw with her own eyes how well he could pretend, and it dawned on her just how little she knew about him.

They didn't ride into the Garrison as she expected, and rode past all inns, until they reached his old apartment, the one he had supposedly sold to build their little home in that little town. She wanted to ask him about it, but when he opened the door, she suddenly had more pressing questions and concerns.