Chapter 4

SYLVIE pov

When she arrived to Paris, she thought Athos would get better, and that their relationship could be salvaged. She truly believed that being with his friends would help him once again be the man that he was, but the moment he stepped foot in Paris, he became even worse. He spent all his time in a tavern, and stopped trying to hold back from drinking. Sitting in the dimly lit tavern he kept his eyes on the wine, and his mouth shut unless it was to order more wine. She had tried to drag him home, but that turned out useless since he had even more wine stashed under the bed.

The changes in the man she loved peaked when she asked who Milady is. The distant melancholic look in his eyes that appeared the very moment she uttered the name hasn't left his face in more than three days and she was starting to believe it would now be permanently there.

But after his meeting with Aramis and D'Artaganan at the Musketeer garrison, everything got worse. He disappeared without a word, without a letter, and no one knew where he went. She had asked Constance many times, and Constance had asked D'Artagnan. No one knew where he was, even though she had a feeling that D'Artagnan had an idea, and simply chose not to tell. Constance had warned her that the little meeting had ended in a fight, and Athos was most likely sulking somewhere where the others wouldn't find him. And true to her words, Athos appeared a day later, his cloak missing, but looking more like himself for the first time since Cecile had died.

When he galloped into the garrison atop his horse, with his hair carefully arranged and clothes cleaner than she had ever seen, and asked her to gather everyone, she was confused, but complied because for the first time since she had met him he was willing to open up. She had immediately called Constance, and by dinner they had Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan gathered in Athos' small apartment.

The five of them waited for him, crammed into a tiny room, but they were all eager to know why Athos wanted them all there. The man himself arrived soon, not fully sober, but not drunk either. Throwing his hat onto the chest that stood in the corner he sat down on a chair and ran his hands through his hair, before finally looking up at them.

"All of you wanted to know what happened with Milady. Or who she is, and was…"

He paused and looked her in the eyes. He let out a heavy breath and continued.

"Some of you know some of what happened, but I believe that it is necessary for you all to know the truth. If not for my sake then for her's."

For some reason his words made her heart ache, evoking an ugly feeling of jealousy and hatred. But she didn't move, didn't say anything. She wanted to know the truth, and here he was finally telling the truth.

"I'll start at the beginning."

He cleared his throat and his eyes fell to the ground."

"When I met her, her name was Anne de Breuil. That is the name that she gave me. Of course it wasn't her real name, but as I found out later it was the name that she chose for herself, so I guess it's a name as good as any. I was young and bored. My father had just passed away and I had inherited his title of the Comte de la Fere."

She couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath. When she looked around she realized that no one aside from herself was surprised that he was the Comte de la Fere.

"You are a noble? A Comte?"

Athos looked up at her and nodded his head slowly.

"Yes. But I gave up my title and lands."

She shook her head.

"So that's where all the money was from?! You didn't even try to find work? Did you?! You just lived off your money, knowing that there was nothing to worry about, but left me to wonder just how soon we would end up without a sous?"

He didn't even look guilty. He simply looked back down at the floor.

"I was betrothed to Catherine de Garouville, a childhood friend. But when I met Anne, I realized that I wanted more from marriage than just friendship. So I married Anne. And we were happy. For the first time since my mother's death I was happy. I loved her and she loved me, and we did not care about the rest of the world. Suddenly my life as a Comte was filled with joy and entertainment. She never asked for anything, a couple dresses and a locket. We would run through the fields and she would put forget me nots in her hair. I couldn't ask for more."

Her mouth opened on its own accord. Married? She had guessed that there had been some woman, but marriage was a completely different thing. While she was too shocked to say something she heard a quiet scoff near her. It was Porthos.

"So that's where her obsession with those flowers came from? I always thought it had some… deeper meaning."

Athos shook his head.

"No. She said that she had never seen so many flowers. She grew up in Paris, as I would later find out. Catherine was passed down to my brother Thomas, and she took it as a slight."

She frowned and looked around once again. She was the only one surprised, even Constance was aware that Athos had a brother. He had never mentioned a brother, the same way he never mentioned that he was from nobility. This time she kept quiet, there was no point in arguing with him.

"Catherine hated Anne from the very first day, and so did Thomas."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

"With good reason."

Athos immediately glared at him.

"That is where you are wrong. They hated her because she was not of noble birth."

He turned away from his younger friend to once again look at the ground.

"They decided to find out who she is so that I wouldn't love her, so that I would see her for who she really was in their opinion, a peasant. Thomas and I were not alike. I was always quiet, and preferred solitude, while he liked to laugh with his friends, and his women. He would often leave Pinon, so I thought nothing of it when he went to Paris for a while. During his trip he found out that Anne grew up on the streets of Paris. She was a pick-pocket and a whore. She ran away from Paris, and ended up in Pinon where we met."

Constance was the first to speak up this time.

"She grew up on the streets? But how did she learn… everything? How did she learn to act like a noble lady?"

Athos leaned back in his chair and looked up.

"That I do not know."

Sylvie leaned forward slightly. Athos had been married to a woman who grew up on the streets of Paris, he was a Comte, and he had a brother. It was a lot. A lot of information that she had been completely oblivious to. At least it had not been her fault, but his for never sharing anything from his past.

"So what happened next?"

He scoffed and closed his eyes for a second.

"My brother… He loved women, and they loved him. At least that is what he believed. He came back and instead of telling me what he found, he confronted my wife. He told her that if she would sleep with him, he would not tell me that she was a whore and a thief. She told him no. So he tried to force her."

D'Artagnan jumped up to his feet and walked up to Athos.

"So she was telling the truth?! She told me that your brother tried to force himself on her! And you assured me that it was a lie!"

Athos looked up at him, his eyes wet, and guilt written all over his face.

"There was no proof at the time. When I found her, my brother was dead and her hands were covered in his blood. Catherine told me that she killed Thomas. Anne said that he tried to force himself on her, but I could not bring myself to trust her when I found out that she had lied. I could not bring myself to trust the one who murdered my brother."

This time Porthos stood up.

"So you hanged her?"

She sat there in utter confusion. Hang? From what she had gathered Milady was still alive, so there was no way that Athos had hanged. She looked at Porthos' anger and D'Artagnan disbelief and turned back to Athos.

But Athos did not seem disturbed by their words. He kept looking them straight in the eyes, his face perfectly composed, and eyes cold and distant.

"Yes, I hanged the woman I loved without a proper trial."