Chapter 2
ATHOS POV
The morning comes, and he lets his limbs work on their own as he and Sylvie make their way to the Musketeer Garrison. His muscles still remember the way as though he had never left, and he walks without lifting his eyes, without noticing his surroundings. He does not know what awaits him, and does not want to think about it. He can imagine the faces of his friends when they learn that his daughter is dead, he can hear their condolences, and feel the gentle pat on his shoulder. And he knows that he will stand there like a rock, face in a perfect mask of indifference, because if he does not keep his composure, he will break. He does not want to break. Not again. Not in front of his brothers.
The moment he steps into the yard, all the familiar sights and smells hit him a little too hard. The sight of Musketeers sparing, while others clean their weapons, the smell of sweat and dirt. The balcony where Treville used to stand. The table where he would sit with Aramis, Porthos, and later D'Artagnan. It takes all of his willpower not to turn around right there, even when it feels as though he could crumple to the ground any second.
He has to do it for Sylvie. For his daughter. And for himself.
Luckily he is snapped out of his thoughts by none other than Constance.
She smiles when she sees them, hugs them both tightly, and calls for D'Artagnan. She talks loudly about how happy D'Artagnan will be to see them and how happy she is herself, but Athos barely hears it. He manages a smile that most likely looks more forced than Sylvie's and nods slightly. And soon D'Artagnan appears.
"Athos!"
He turns to face his brother, and the moment their eyes cross he thinks D'Artagnan already knows everything. His brother's easy smile is replaced by a confused look, and he can see it in his eyes that he knows him well enough to know when something is wrong. It seems that D'Artagnan remembers this broken look in his eyes.
The younger man pulls him into a hug and only pulls away to hug Sylvie, and he continues to look worried.
"I didn't expect you to come back to Paris anytime soon."
He sees out of the corner of his eye when Sylvie covers her mouth as tears begin to poor down her cheeks. He sees Constance comfort her. He hears D'Artagnan ask what is wrong. And he hears Sylvie explain.
"Did you bring Cecille with you?"
"What is wrong..?"
"What happened?"
Loud gasps.
Sobs.
"It was all my fault."
"Athos was not there."
"It happened so quickly."
More sobs.
And he sees the three of them look at him.
And he wishes he could comfort Sylvie. But if he moves, he will fall apart. So he stands, and looks at the ground. His anger boils. He clenches his teeth. And then his fists.
Then it's too much.
"If you'll excuse me."
He walks away briskly. He wants to be left alone. He doesn't want his friends to see his emotions. He doesn't want his friends to see him broken.
But D'Artagnan catches up to him either way.
"Athos."
His eyes are covered by his hat, but for some reason D'Artagnan seems to see right through him. After all he had been the one who pulled him out of the burning chateau, the one to whom Athos first confessed about what he had done.
He does not reply to him, for he knows his voice might break. He had never been allowed to show his emotions growing up. He had not shown his emotions when he was forced to hang his wife. He had not shown his emotions when Treville died. And he would not show his emotions now. He would not burden his friend, his brother, with such things.
But D'Artagnan has always been persistent, so he tries again.
"Athos…"
And this time he falls apart.
He slides down the wall onto the dirt. He feels his heartbeat speed up. Throwing his hat to the side he runs his hand through his hair, and looks up at D'Artagnan.
"I should have stayed in Paris."
D'Artagnan shakes his head in return and sits down by his side.
"No, you made the right choice. You and Sylvie deserved to have a family together."
He pulls his gaze away from his friend and looks at his hat, laying a couple feet away.
"No. She deserved better."
Looking back at D'Artagnan he shakes his head.
"I was running away. And Sylvie gave me a good opportunity to run away. I used her. She is kind, smart. And loving her was easier than facing my issues."
His friend looks perplexed, but says nothing. So he continues.
"I couldn't adjust to a simple life. It all felt wrong. But I spent time with Sylvie and our daughter, and that was enough. Until it wasn't. I felt useless in that small town, surrounded by fields and forests, and dullness."
Looking back at it now he wishes that he had never asked for more action in his life. Yes, his life was boring, but it was easy. He craved adventure and to get out of that town, and it seemed that God had an ugly sense of humor, for he gave him a good reason to leave and a good reminder that a dull life was better than death.
"You could have come back here."
He hears the hopefulness in the younger man's tone, and he understands that his friends would have been delighted had he stayed, but there were too many temptations in Paris, and too many ghosts.
"I couldn't."
D'Artagnan pauses for a moment and thinks.
"Because of Milady?"
He closes his eyes. And there she is again. Red lips, green eyes, forget me nots in her hair, his lips on hers, his hands on her neck, and her pleas to stay. Memories of her would forever be engraved in his mind, no matter if he was in Paris or elsewhere. She was not one of the reasons he left Paris, but he was sure that he was the reason she left. He doubted she would live with the humiliation he put her through that day. To beg only to be turned away from. Twice now. After his brother's death, and then in his office.
"Is it because she decided to stay in Paris?"
And he freezes. A chill runs down his back. He is confused.
"No… That can't be right. She would have left Paris. Not after…"
But D'Artagnan stops him.
"Athos. She is here, in Paris. She works for the Queen. Has been even before Treville's death!"
And it takes him a few moments to understand what was said. Because he knows his wife. He knows that she would have left Paris.
Unless of course… He left first. Which is exactly what he did.
He scrambles to his feet as quickly as he can, and D'Artagnan follows him.
"Wait Athos. I thought you knew."
He clenches his jaw and can't stop himself from glaring at his friend.
"I was not informed. I was sure that she left after what happened between us."
D'Artagnan huffs. Then he realizes what Athos said and looks questioningly at him.
"What happened between the two of you? When?"
He turns away and picks up his hat.
"It's not your concern."
D'Artagnan looks at him frantically.
"Not my concern? Athos, I swear to God, if she tried to seduce you or…."
He stops the younger man by putting his hand up, and looks angrily at him.
He had time to think about that encounter. He had time to think about everything that has happened between him and his wife. And hates himself for putting his hands on her, when he had no right to do so, there was nothing that could justify his actions. He should not have kissed her then, and he should have definitely not tried to kill her.
"She did no such thing."
Turning away he makes his way back to the yard where Sylvie and Constance are.
"Then what happened?!"
He doesn't bother turning his head to face D'Artagnan, he knows the look on his friend's face, the one he always has when talking about Milady de Winter.
"As I said, it doesn't concern you."
D'Artagnan grabs his shoulder and stops him.
"Then why are you angry that she is here in Paris? She must have done something."
He pushes the hand off his shoulder and keeps walking. He was angry at himself and no one else. It was his incapability to remain cool headed that made him act in such a violent way towards a woman he supposedly still cared for. And when his daughter had died, he had acted even worse. He had seen the fear in Sylvie's eyes when he set the house on fire. Did she believe he would hit her? He didn't know. But he doubted, because Sylvie was a good person, and believed him to be the same.
"I am angry that neither you, nor Aramis, nor Porthos found it pertinent to tell me that she is working for the Queen! Here in Paris!"
By this time they were close enough to Sylvie and Constance to overhear what he said.
Constance was quick on her feet and by the time he reached them she was already asking him too many questions, too quickly.
"He told you about Milady? Didn't he? What else did he say? Did you not know that she was working for the Queen?"
He saw her glare slightly at her husband before she looked back at him.
"I was not aware she was still in Paris."
Sylvie looks confused by their exchange but stays still and listens. D'Artagnan on the other hand seemed to forget that look, that said that arguing was pointless.
"He said that Milady has nothing to do with why he left. But knowing Milady, I don't believe him."
Constance stares at D'Artagnan and considers his words, then turns once again to Athos.
"I'm afraid I have to agree with my husband. I don't trust her, even if she now works for the Queen."
He stops himself from glaring at Constance, but doesn't stop his response from sounding harsh. He is too angry, too betrayed, and too broken to mask the pain and grief.
"This is not about trusting her. It's about trusting me when I say that she had nothing to do with my resignation and departure. And since we are on the topic of trust I wish to know why I was not informed about her presence in the city"
He openly glared at D'Artagnan. He had no right to be privy to Milady's whereabouts, not after what he had done, but he had trusted his friends to keep him informed of the happenings of Paris.
D'Artagnan looks away while Constance looks sharply at him.
"We did not tell you because it was not important! You were away from all the madness that was happening in Paris, and we did not wish you to worry. You were happy with Sylvie!"
He clenched his jaw and kept glaring at D'Artagnan who daringly stared back, challenging him to say that Constance was wrong. Constance was right, but it was not their choice to make. Yet he had ventured to Paris many times, and not once had he wondered about his wife. He had ample opportunity to discover the current affairs of this city, but instead chose to lose himself in the drink and self pity. He had no right.
But D'Artagnan had no right to assume that Milady had a hand in his leaving, had no right to assume the worst of her, even if that is exactly what he did himself.
He was prepared to tell D'Artagnan and Constance that they should not meddle in business that is not their own, knowing full well how utterly stupid and hypocritical it would sound, but his thoughts were interrupted by Sylvie's quiet voice.
"Who is Milady?"