A/N: Makes references to a previous story, "About A Birthday," so it might be helpful to read that one before this one.
*Written in honor of Celticgal1040's birthday. Happy Birthday, my friend! I hope you enjoy the story.
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"I exist in two places, here and where you are."
~~~~~ Margaret Atwood
"We were together even when we were apart."
~~~~~ Shannon A. Thompson
"Distance between two people is inconsequential when their souls are united."
~~~~~ Matshona Dhliwayo
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Chapter One: d'Artagnan
Even after so many months, d'Artagnan was still getting used to being the captain of the Musketeers.
Being called captain still sounded strange to his ears, and when he was most distracted, he sometimes looked for Tréville or Athos before responding to the title.
And now, with the help of his wife, he was responsible for a garrison full of Musketeers while doing his best to keep the city of Paris safe during a time of war.
Today was Athos's birthday. As far as anyone else knew, it was his birthday as well. They'd started sharing the date when he'd admitted why he hated his own day of birth and Athos had done him the immense kindness of offering to share birthdays. Even after all these years, it still hurt his heart to even think of celebrating his own birthday, because it was the same day as his mother died when he was only ten years old.
This year would be the first birthday he would be spending without Athos, who had managed to make celebrating his own not quite so horrible any longer. He missed his mentor, best friend, and brother so, so much. Having not heard from the older man in too many months only exacerbated how much his missed Athos.
He'd already enthusiastically celebrated with Constance before having a quiet breakfast with her in their quarters and before starting their days. He was thankful for his wife; she was a gift he would try to never take for granted.
Having contemplated telling his wife the truth that his birthday was not this day but the next, he decided once again to keep up the lie. Not that he was worried about angering Constance, but because sharing Athos's birthday had settled something in himself. He could finally appreciate the idea of a birthday even if he still could not celebrate it on the actual day of his birth. Besides, it was kind of nice to share the day with Athos, especially now that his best friend was so far away.
Tonight, he was to meet with Aramis, and they were going to have dinner at the palace in the older man's rooms. With only the two of them in Paris, it wouldn't feel like much of a celebration, but more like a commemoration for the friends who were not with them. Still, it will be nice to see Aramis and talk of past glories and adventures.
Tomorrow morning, he would continue with the tradition he'd started the year he'd come to Paris after his father had been murdered. He would go to the little chapel that reminded him of the one back in Gascony, the one dedicated to the Virgin Mary. He would light a candle in honor of his mother, and remember her for a time before praying for her soul as well as his father's. He would also pray a prayer of safety for Athos, Porthos, their families, and his fellow Musketeers out fighting on the front.
He wakes before sunrise on his original birthday and quietly gets ready for the day. Constance stirs and sleepily asks him a question that he could only comprehend maybe two or three words total. He thinks his wife had fallen back asleep before he could finish reminding her where he was going. On his way past the guards at the gate, he makes sure to inform them that he would return by breakfast.
As he arrived at the chapel, one of the lay brothers was just opening the doors. Due to the war, most of the smaller chapels and churches now closed for a few hours during the middle of the night as a precaution. He nods a greeting to the brother before following the man into the chapel.
It's early enough that there's no one else entering with him and still an hour or more before the morning mass would start. D'Artagnan sat on the bench closest to the door and watched as the lay brother finished his duties before standing and moving closer to the rack of prayer candles.
He sits down on the closest pew and lets the atmosphere of the place calm him. D'Artagnan's thoughts naturally stray towards his mother. Her long, braid of dark hair. Her laugh. The way she and his father were together. His mother making him his favorite meal for his birthday. And her wonderful hugs. That's what he misses more than anything about his mother.
Swallowing past the tightness in his throat caused by his memories, d'Artagnan stands and heads towards the prayer candles. He reaches into his pocket for a coin to deposit into the collection box, and reaches for a spill.* Lighting the spill from the only candle currently lit in the rack, d'Artagnan lights one of the candles in the second row as he prays for his mother. When he finishes, he lights another as he prays for Porthos and the rest of the Musketeers.
He blows out the flame on the spill and puts it into an empty vessel next to the one full of unused spills. Despite knowing he should return to the garrison, d'Artagnan sits back down on the bench he'd previously occupied even as thoughts of Athos start to overwhelm him. The first time he'd heard the man's name. The first time they'd met. So many memories, but the one that lingers is the first time Athos came with him to the chapel he was currently sitting in.
On a whim, he stands and heads back towards the prayer candles. He deposits another coin and picks up the spill he'd recently used. It was the custom to pray silently, to pray a more lengthy prayer, but in this case he doesn't.
In deference to how Athos could say so much with so few words or even just a raised eyebrow, d'Artagnan murmurs, "Peace be with you, Athos," as he lights a third candle.
This time he is well-aware he can no longer delay his return to the garrison to begin the day's duties. He crossed himself before the chapel's altar, and with a last glance at the prayer candles, he turns to leave.
Just before he reaches the door, he hears what could only be Athos's voice saying, "Happy birthday, d'Artagnan."
Despite knowing it's impossible, and thinking it was his imagination, he turns around and looks anyway. He's still disappointed when he sees no one else in the chapel with him, even as he checks every shadow for someone. Yet, he is the only one there.
One thing is impossibly different, given how no one had either entered or left the main part of the chapel since he'd seen the lay brother leave.
Glancing at the prayer candles, d'Artagnan notices that a fourth candle is now lit next to the one he'd lit for Athos. No one could've lit the candle without him noticing, and yet…
D'Artagnan smiles, and thanks God for the gift he's been given, even as a tear slides down his cheek. Wiping it away, he thinks of that hug he gave Athos that first year, remembers how it had felt to thank his best friend for coming with him to the chapel.
As d'Artagnan steps out of the chapel and begins heading back towards the garrison, he reflects on the fact that the distance between them does not matter, because they will always be together in spirit.
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Next: Chapter Two: Athos
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A/N: *"Spills" are thin wooden sticks or tightly curled strands of paper used to transfer flame from an existing fire to another combustible material, such as a candle.
No beta for this one. Any remaining mistakes are my fault.
Thanks for reading!
Please do not repost or use this or any of my other works on another site or app without my knowledge or consent. FanFiction and Archive of Our Own are the only two sites (as AZGirl on both) where my fiction should be posted. Thank you!