The Prize, Ch. 6
As the competition neared its end, two combatants remained. Aramis stood on the pitch in his shirtsleeves and breeches, Marcello stood likewise.
"Our two remaining competitors are Marcello, Duke of Mantua and Aramis of the King's Musketeers," decreed the King. "This final match will not be to first blood, but will continue until one man surrenders."
"Please, your Majesty, end this. I don't believe that either man will concede," whispered the Queen worriedly who had watched her friend grow paler and paler as the tournament progressed.
"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense," he said, resettling himself on his chair.
"But your Majesty, they may kill each other," she whispered urgently, but the King did not respond.
Athos approached Aramis as he rolled his shoulders, staring out across the pitch at the Duke. "How are you feeling?" he asked, to which Aramis raised an eyebrow.
Athos smirked. "She is worried about you," he said. Aramis looked to the King's box and saw Christine staring at him, her hands pressed to her lips in prayer. He caught her eye and she smiled at him with as much confidence as she could muster.
"Look out for his right arm," Athos warned. "He will tease with the rapier but it's the dagger that's deadly," he said, and Aramis nodded. "And Aramis…do not throw your life away. Remember, at the end of all this, her heart has still chosen you."
oOo
Athos left the area. Aramis pulled his parrying dagger into his left hand and held his rapier in his right. Marcelo stood as his mirror reflection - dagger in the right hand, rapier in the left. Truly this was a match of opposites - structured technique versus improvisation, left versus right, noble versus common - and both men in love with Christine.
Aramis inclined his head to Marcello to symbolize his readiness. Marcello smirked and the men began to circle. Christine, ghostlike, fell back in her seat. She could not watch the man she loved risk his life to battle this man who loved her. She shut her eyes and tried to block out the reactions of the crowd.
Marcello's attack was relentless. His swift sharp blows with his rapier drove Aramis backwards. His eyes bore down on Aramis as his rapier continued its barrage on the musketeer. Aramis' dark eyes tracked each motion and he countered each stroke that came his way. Marcello drew close and moved to strike with his short blade he carried in his dominant hand, but Aramis was prepared for that. He was not prepared for the strike that followed from the pommel of Marcello's rapier. He spun away from the impact with a small cut to his cheekbone.
They readied themselves and the match began again. This time Aramis was on the offensive. A few forceful swipes and Aramis landed a decisive hit to Marcello's left breast. The stroke tore the man's shirt and began to bleed.
Porthos watched the exchange intently, his nerves stretched tight. He couldn't present the calm fortitude of Athos while he watched his brother fight – not with the stakes so high. He reflexively clenched and unclenched his fists. D'Artagnan nervously paced back and forth along with the competitors, mesmerized by the skill of the duellers. Athos and Treville stood like sentinels of stone, pillars with frozen eyes watching every muscle that flinched during the duel. Some would have sworn that the pair did not even breathe.
Another parry, riposte, counter-riposte, parry and Aramis landed a hit to Marcello's thigh. Marcello growled and led a fierce attack in reply. Aramis hissed as he felt a blow to his arm cut. They wove in and out. Aramis managed to engage Marcello's dagger hand, and the two short blades were cast aside in the effort.
Christine could hardly breathe. The cries of the crowd had forced her eyes open so she sat tensed on the edge of her seat tracking the battle. Back and forth the men attacked. They were tiring, but neither would give ground.
A fresh burst of attacks and Marcello managed to divest Aramis of his rapier. It flew a few feet away.
Marcello smelled victory and blood. Christine rose suddenly, her nails digging into the balcony rail, fearing the worst. She couldn't breathe. She felt as though the world was about to spin off its axis. Only Aramis filled her vision. She swore she could feel his heart beating alongside her own.
Aramis stood ready as Marcello made to strike a deadly blow.
His confidence at its height, Marcello aimed a decisive overhand blow. Aramis drew back at the last moment, then threw himself under the follow up swipe of the blade. He rolled across the pitch and came up with his rapier back in hand.
He lashed out, striking Marcello in the arm and kicking him backwards so he dropped his blade and fell to his knees. Aramis surged forward and brought his blade so it rested against the Duke's neck. He kicked the blade out of the reach of where the Duke now knelt in the dirt. Everyone held their breath.
"Yield," he growled.
Marcello did not move.
"Yield," Aramis repeated. "Please don't make me kill you."
"You are not worthy of her," Marcello hissed.
"But I love her, and she believes I am. She has chosen me, and that is the only thing that matters," he said adjusting his stance. "Now yield," he repeated forcefully.
Marcello looked over at Christine. Dressed in pale lilac, she looked more beautiful than any marble masterpiece in Florence. He looked into her proud and hopeful eyes as she looked at Aramis. He dropped his head and nodded.
"I yield," he said loudly his eyes now fixed on the ground, finally accepting her choice and his true defeat in the gaze she gave her musketeer. Aramis stepped back and cast his rapier aside. The crowd erupted as Aramis held out his hand to draw the Duke to his feet.
Marcello took the proffered arm and rising he leant in close to the marksman.
"Be worthy of her. Always," he whispered to Aramis.
"I will," Aramis returned confidently.
oOo
Marcello left the fighting area and Aramis turned to face his love and his King, both of whom stood beaming. Tears of relief fell from Christine's eyes, which she hastily wiped away. Porthos was doing the same. D'Artagnan, Athos and Treville wore three identical pride-filled grins.
"Well done Aramis! The prize is yours!" announced the King as the crowd burst into applause once more.
"Thank you, your Majesty. If it pleases you, I would have the prize money split – a third to help replace the church bell in town, a third to the orphanage of St. Anthony in Paris, and a third to the benefit of Captain Treville for much needed repairs to the Garrison."
"Excellent decisions Aramis. But now, claim your kiss from the Comtesse."
Aramis smiled and shook his head. "I cannot, your majesty. Her kiss is not mine to claim. It is one I would gratefuly accept if offered, but I have no right over her to take it, nor does any man. In truth your Majesty," he said kneeling before the King, "I am in love with Christine, the Comtesse des Etoiles, and I beg your permission to pursue my suit for her affection and her hand."
Silence reigned as Aramis knelt there.
"And the Comtesse?" asked the King, "Does she love you too?"
"Yes," cried Christine unhesitatingly with strength and a fire in her eyes. "Yes your Majesty. I love him with all my heart. More than anything else in this world. I love him," she said.
"Well then," said the King, pausing. "It is true, that I am appointed by God to be your king and ruler," he began, "But what is almost as rare as monarchy and regency is love. True love." The Comtesse and the Musketeer dared not breathe as the King continued.
"Aramis, I know you to be a good man. It may not seem as though I am involved in all of the deeds of my musketeers, but I am well aware of most of your good actions. You have served me faithfully for many years. You and your brothers' acts of valor both on the battlefield and in defence of the Queen and I are plentiful. Not only that, but rumours of your good charitable deeds have reached me too."
The King paused again. "Your long and faithful service alone would have qualified you to present yourself before me to pursue the Comtesse, but as she has so fervently chosen you as the object of her affection, both she and God have marked you as her equal regardless of your lack of a title. A gift so granted is not something I would deny, nor should any man question or aim to," the King declared. "I approve of your suit Aramis, and openly welcome your love at court."
Aramis closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Christine ran from the balcony and down the stairs. He rose just in time as she flung herself into his arms. He gathered her up, and in the presence of God, the King and Queen, his brothers, Treville, the townspeople and all the nobility assembled, he kissed her. And she kissed him back.
oOo
The tournament had ended and the nobility withdrew. The King and Queen prepared for their exodus as well. Aramis sat in the parlour just off the entranceway leaning his head back against the chair. His eyes were closed but his smile lit his whole face as he recalled every word the King had said and the look on Christine's face as they were granted permission to be together.
He was startled when the King himself entered the room. Aramis hastened to rise and bow to his monarch, but the King waved him down and clapping a hand on his shoulder he took a seat next to the marksman and smiled.
"Your majesty," Aramis began, "Again, I cannot begin to thank you enough for everything. I am truly blessed to be in your service."
The King smiled magnanimously. "You know," he said slyly, "You could have approached me ages ago. I was well aware of your love affair," he said, mischief present in his eyes.
"But the tournament..." Aramis began, a little shocked by the King's confession.
"I needed you both to prove to me the truth of your love…but I also thought you needed to prove your own validity to yourself at court. This way, coupled with my public acceptance of your love, no man may dare protest it. She is one of my favourites, you know."
"Your Majesty is very wise," said Aramis, shocked. "But what if I had lost? Or not competed?"
"Then you wouldn't have deserved her. I too know the deep passion that a man has for a woman. I knew that you would stop at nothing to protect her. It was obvious from the way you tended her when she fell. You would risk everything for her. If you loved her, you would ensure that only you would earn her kiss," the King said gleefully.
"And it was a fun competition," he said, off-handedly. "As I understand it, the new bell for the church in town should be arriving in ten days. The Comtesse is due to return to Paris upon its installation. I have spoken to Treville and have assigned you to supervise the installation and to escort Christine on her return to Paris," said Louis rising.
"That is most generous of you, my King," Aramis stammered.
"It really is," said the King regally as he swept from the room with a flick of his gold brocade cape.
ooooooooooooooooo
A/N: Thanks for tuning into this and thanks, as always for your reviews, PMs, favourites and follows. It's wicked knowing that people are enjoying these little adventures as much as I'm enjoying writing them! Until next time!