For Whom The Bells Toll – Chapter 5
"So," Athos leaned back in his chair, one arm lying across the tavern table, his hand playing with the lip of his half-empty cup of wine. "Porthos knows."
Despite the relatively early hour, they had decided to forego reporting back to the garrison. Word of their altercation with Mazarin and the Red Guard soldiers would find it's way back to the Captain, but they had decided their report to Tréville could wait until the morning. The failure of Milady's scheme had left them feeling both satisfied and euphoric, with a sense of triumph that had deepened their need for camaraderie and celebration. They had silently agreed to convene at the Wren, each of them wanting to remain in their brothers' company for a while longer. They prayed their commanding officer would understand.
Aramis nodded in response to Athos statement. "He… surmised."
There was a long moment of silence as both men's eyes shifted to the table in the center of the room where Porthos and d'Artagnan were currently engrossed in a game of bassette with a few of the establishment's seedier looking patrons.
"And now his future is as tenuous as ours."
Aramis chuckled sadly and raised his goblet. "All for one, eh?"
Athos tipped his cup against his friend's. "And one for all."
They both drank in silence, their attention returning to the game as Porthos' thunderous laugh filled the room and he raked in another pile of coins.
"How did he take it?" Athos asked after a moment.
Aramis smiled, remembering the way the big man had reacted to his confession. "As you might expect. He yelled, explained in great detail what a fool I've been." His smile softened and his eyes crinkled in warm affection. "Then he embraced me and pledged his life to protect my child."
"He is predictable," Athos nodded. He leaned forward, reached across the table and laid his hand atop Aramis'. "Though it hasn't been spoken aloud, Porthos is not alone in his pledge."
Aramis patted Athos' hand and chuckled softly. "It was never in doubt, my friend."
Athos nodded and sat back in the chair, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink of his wine. "Although I regret Porthos joining us in our predicament, it will make things easier. All is forgiven, I presume?"
"For me," Aramis tilted his head and gave his friend a mischievous grin. "He's still quite angry with you."
"Of course," Athos responded, not missing a beat. "My crime was much more grievous."
"You impugned the reputation of one of the King's bravest and most honorable Musketeers," Aramis agreed, his voice dripping with innocence. "I merely slept with a beautiful woman. Porthos takes loyalty to his brothers very seriously."
"Loyalty is one of his more admirable qualities. And what of d'Artagnan?"
Aramis sobered, he diverted his attention to the young man who was smiling as Porthos dealt another hand of cards. D'Artagnan had become one of them very quickly, and Aramis couldn't imagine facing the future without him at his side, but he did not feel right burdening the young Gascon with such a dangerous secret. D'Artagnan may not appreciate being left out if ever he should become aware, but Aramis couldn't bring himself to be the cause of the boy's ruin.
"I think it best if he remains in the dark."
"He won't like it," Athos cautioned, unknowingly echoing the voice in Aramis' head. "He'll know there is something we're not telling him. He's more perceptive than we give him credit for. And he was less than accepting of my previous doubts of your honor."
Aramis chuckled. "Our pup has a loyalty that rivals Porthos', eh?"
"So it would seem."
"That makes me feel all warm inside." The Spaniard's grin widened and he looked upon his friend with a satisfied gleam in his dark eyes.
"I'm happy for you," Athos responded, his voice dry as parchment.
"Don't worry, my friend," Aramis assured him. "Porthos understands and d'Artagnan… d'Artagnan worships you. He will not remain angry for long."
"This is all your fault."
"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear." Aramis said, rolling his eyes. "I accept all responsibility for your current status as scoundrel."
Athos raised the wine bottle that sat on the table between them and poured the small amount remaining into his cup. "Good," he smiled, tossing the empty bottle to Aramis who caught it deftly in his left hand. "You can buy more wine in reparation. I feel unusually parched this evening."
Aramis placed the bottle back on the table and bowed his head in deference to his friend's request. "It is positively the very least I could do."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
As darkness fell, the crowd at the tavern increased, wine flowed and laughter filled the room. Aramis had gone to fetch their fourth bottle of wine, stopping at the gaming table to urge Porthos and d'Artagnan on in their endeavor to relieve most of the tavern's patrons of their hard-earned livres. Athos hadn't been paying close enough attention to tell if Porthos was cheating, but knowing the big man, he probably was. He gave momentary thought to interceding before d'Artagnan was thoroughly corrupted, but he was quite comfortable slouched in his chair by the fire, and with Aramis paying for the wine, he was content to let the others handle their own transgressions for a time.
The fire was warm and the wine he'd already imbibed was making him drowsy. He allowed himself to sink further into the chair, his sleepy gaze rapt on the orange and gold flames dancing in the hearth. Despite all they'd encountered in the last few days, he was at ease, content in knowing his brothers were safe for now and that they were as prepared as they could be for the tribulations that would come their way. Aramis had been cleared, and although Athos knew his friend was still troubled by the situation he'd found himself in with the Queen, the fact both Athos and Porthos were there for him, supporting and shielding him from his own self-doubts, had already lifted his spirits and given him the courage he needed to face his new reality.
Athos certainly didn't envy his friend his plight. To have a child, to love it and yet be forced to watch from afar, unable to acknowledge that love, was something he would wish on no man – let alone someone like Aramis who loved with all his heart. He knew there would be trying times in the years to come, but they would be there for him. And they would protect Aramis' child with their lives. That was a pledge he would be honored to uphold.
Lost in thought, Athos started at the cold edge of steel against his neck, feeling the blade nick his skin as he instinctively shifted in his chair. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of jasmine, his mind aware that he was no longer alone, a familiar, haunting presence behind him.
"Do you aim to slit my throat in public?" he asked dryly, trying not to let his discomfort at being caught unawares show.
"I'm not going to kill you, husband. At least not yet." Milady's voice was low, bitter, and Athos found himself cringing at the tone. This was a woman who had once laughed, whispered words of love and promise to him. Her voice had been the most beautiful sound he could imagine, but now it was filled with venom and hate, and he had no one to blame but himself.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," He glanced across the room, relieved to see his friends still engaged at the gaming table. He shifted slightly, attempting to bring his head around to face her, but was thwarted by the increased pressure of the blade against his neck. "I do not deny you your hatred of me, but I will not stand by and allow you to imperil the lives of my friends."
Milady's laugh was malicious. "It was convenient the dagger belonged to Aramis, was it not?" Athos could hear the vitriol in her voice. "Too bad you were able to save him. I was looking forward to watching you see him hang."
"So it was you who murdered the Cardinal. I thought he was your patron."
"Murder is such a harsh word. The Cardinal betrayed me like every other man I've ever known. He got what he deserved."
"Cardinal Mazarin cannot protect you any more than Richelieu did." There was no reaction, but the silence made him believe he had guessed correctly. "You should have heeded my warning and left Paris."
"I have unfinished business here, husband."
Athos flinched as the blade nicked him again.
"I am sorry if my actions turned you into this."
She laughed again. "Your actions only confirmed what I already knew as truth."
A loud roar from the gaming tables caused him to jump and he looked across the room to see Porthos raking in another pot. D'Aragnan looked on in bewilderment and Aramis was smiling, patting Porthos' shoulder with enthusiasm.
Abruptly, he realized he could no longer feel the cold edge of the blade against his skin, nor the haunting presence behind him. He shifted around in the chair, his eyes searching through the dim light for a sign of his former love. His heart pounded against his ribs and his skin tingled as if just waking from a dream, the scent of jasmine lingering upon his senses, though he could no longer distinguish whether it was real or simply a product of his wine addled imagination. He released a harsh breath, his chest tight as if he'd been holding the air inside himself for too long.
Looking up, he caught Aramis' gaze, the marksman sobering instantly. He leaned down, whispering something to Porthos and d'Artagnan that caused them both to turn their eyes toward Athos. Without a word, the three men stepped away from the gaming table and approached their leader.
"Athos?" Aramis spoke first as he placed the bottle of wine he'd purchased in the center of the table and took a seat to Athos' right. He didn't need to elaborate, his obvious unease saying what his voice did not.
"I'm fine," Athos responded automatically.
"Then why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?" D'Artagnan took the seat to Athos' left, leaving Porthos to turn the chair on the opposite side of the table and perch on it, strong arms draped across the top of the wooden back, eyes boring into the man across from him.
Athos looked around again, noticing the taverns patrons going about their business as if nothing was amiss. Nobody was staring, no alarm had been raised at a beautiful, dark haired woman holding a blade against the neck of a man in their midst. It would seem, nobody had seen a thing. And if nobody had seen her… He raised a hand to his neck, his fingers going cold as they touched the unblemished skin.
"Perhaps that is precisely what happened."
The other three exchanged glances and Aramis reached out, purposefully pushing the wine bottle away from Athos toward Porthos who placed a hand on it possessively. "I think it may be time to call it a night."
Athos smiled, touched by his friends' concern. "A ghost can not harm us." He took a deep breath and held his cup out, his eyes focused pointedly at Porthos. He pretended not to notice the look Porthos sent to Aramis, who in turn shrugged, clearly unsure what to make of Athos' strange behavior.
Porthos poured the wine, filling their cups as Athos held his up, waiting patiently for them to join in his toast.
"To the ghosts of our pasts," he intoned.
"To the spirit of our future," Aramis added.
"To the fellowship of the present," Porthos concluded.
"All for one," d'Artagnan spoke the familiar words, his eyes shining as they clinked the cups together.
Four voices echoed in the din of the tavern. "And one for all."
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Aramis awoke to the sounds of bells ringing. The melody rang out, easing the ache in his head as well as the ache in his soul. They had finished their wine the previous night, Athos' rather melancholy behavior setting the tone for the rest of the evening. They stayed together at their table, Porthos foregoing the invitations to return to the gaming table, content to drink together, commiserating on their ill-fated attempts at love and the women who had stolen and broken their hearts. Although he never mentioned Anne's name out loud, he feared d'Artagnan was somehow able to deduce whom he had been lamenting. Though the Gascon had never let on, and Aramis fervently hoped his inebriated friend would not remember much past his own contribution concerning his still confusing feelings for Madame Bonacieux, he was convinced d'Artagnan had worked out the secret they had tried to keep from him and silently apologized to his young friend for their lack of reticent. Sighing in contrition, Aramis let his thoughts wander, wondering what time it was and how late he would be for Sunday mass -
His eyes shot open and he sat up abruptly, ignoring the rush of blood to his head that momentarily caused his vision to waiver. The bells. They normally only rang out on the Sabbath.
It wasn't the Sabbath.
Which could only mean… something of great importance had happened. Could it be?
Jumping from his bed, he quickly pulled his breeches and boots on, ducking into a shirt as he hurried out the door onto the wooden deck. Tréville was just stepping out of his office on the landing across the quad, and he called for the attention of the Musketeers already assembled in the garrison courtyard.
As soon as he had the notice of the regiment, the Captain raised a hand, waiting for the bells to finish their toll. When silence reigned, he spoke, his voice loud to carry across the distance.
"I have the great privilege of informing you that the Queen has given birth to a son. Both mother and child are healthy and happy."
As cheers broke out from below, Aramis gripped the rail forcefully, his knees weak, his chest tight as he realized he had been holding his breath, waiting for the Captain's words. As he inhaled the cool morning air, his eyes dropped, searching the men congregating below. His gaze quickly found Porthos' who was already looking up, watching him. The big man lifted his cup in a salute, a grin playing on his rugged features. Next to him, Athos was also watching, his face as unreadable as always. He nodded his head, a deft movement that would probably have been missed by anyone not looking directly at him, and Aramis thought he saw a hint of a smile alight his lips.
A hand came down on his shoulder, startling him and only his tight hold on the rail saved him from collapsing in a heap onto the decking.
"Did you hear?" d'Artagnan asked, his face split with a wide smile. "France has an heir! Isn't it wonderful news?"
Aramis simply nodded, unable to form a response while his heart was beating so loudly in his own ears.
D'Artagnan didn't seem to notice his distress and clapped him on the arm once more before making his way down the stairs to join the celebration below. At least he could set his fears for the young man to rest. It was obvious d'Artagnan was none the wiser as to what this news truly meant, which was one less burden weighing on his shoulders. Aramis was inclined to take what small favors he could find.
He swallowed hard and turned, quietly escaping back into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. As he slid down the rough wood to the floor, the bells began to toll again, the sweet melody heralding the arrival of the heir to the throne of France.
A son.
His son.
He blinked away the wetness in his eyes, belatedly realizing his cheeks were moist. Unashamed, he let the tears fall, silently thanking God for protecting Anne and their child. He knew his Lord would watch over them from His realm in Heaven, and he swore on his life that he would do the same here on earth.
Slow, heavy footsteps on the walkway outside warned him of Porthos' approach – he'd expected his friend to check on him, he'd just hoped for a bit of time to compose himself after hearing the news. The footsteps stopped just outside his door, but there was no knock and he knew his brother understood. Porthos would wait for him, and then they would all go celebrate the birth of the dauphin.
As the bells finished their song, he smiled through his tears, recognition dawning. They were the familiar bells of Notre Dame. The Cardinal had lied. They were not in such a state of disrepair after all.
The Cardinal was gone – killed by his own treachery – and Aramis could not find it in himself to mourn the man. They may never be able to prove that Milady and Mazarin had collaborated against Richelieu, but it would not be the first time someone had killed to advance to power and he doubted it would be the last. Considering the treachery Richelieu brought about, perhaps Milady had inadvertently done France a favor. The Cardinal was no longer a potential threat to Anne and the baby, and the King would be more affluent without his counsel. After all Richelieu had done, he had gotten what he deserved, and Aramis prayed the bells of Chapelle de la Sorbonne would be silenced forever.
He smiled as the bells continued to toll. These were the bells that should be ringing out over Paris; the bells of Notre Dame. The beautiful sound heralding the birth of the future King.
The End... for now.
This is the first story of a 4 story arc. The other three are all plotted out and I hope to have the second story ready to start posting within a couple weeks. I sincerely hope I captured the spirit of The Musketeers. I love these characters and I have been thoroughly infatuated with the show – something that hasn't happened to me since season one of Supernatural. Since recent seasons of that show have left me feeling adrift, I have waited for something to come along to inspire me to write again. These four characters were that inspiration. I'm so glad my friend Jackfan2 talked me into buying that DVD. I owe ya, girl! Again, sincerest thanks to my beta, Sharlot, for all her hard work and dedication. She took the time over her holidays to edit this and add her unique insights. She truly is a wonder! Feel free to leave me any comments, I would love to hear your opinions! Thanks for reading!
