a/n: Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers, just going to borrow them and their adventures for a bit. No copyright infringement is intended; just some good old gender-bending!
Please, feel free to check out my one-shot "Tresses" starring d'Artagnan and his Angels! Yes... I am free promoting myself. :)
Episode Tag: Season 1, Episode 6: The Exiles.
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
Charl(i)es' Angels!
Pursuit 6:The Exiles
d'Artagnan rode close beside Aramis on the borrowed garrison steed on the narrow road. It was odd, being on a mission that didn't include Athos and Porthos as well. But the King was out hunting and needed to have his guard there with him. That included every Musketeer that wasn't already out on assignment and even Treville himself. d'Artagnan was exempted because he wasn't a Musketeer yet, not until he got his commission from the King himself; and Aramis as well because the Cardinal and Treville sent her on this current mission.
"So, what do you think the Cardinal's interest is in this baby?" he asked.
"Hmm?" Aramis looked over at him.
"This baby—"
"All I know," Aramis stopped him, "Is it's our job to collect the infant and his mother and take them back to Paris." She gave him a gelled smile. "That's it."
"You really aren't curious?" he leaned over the side of his saddle and retrieved his canteen. "Why the Cardinal has such an interest in this baby? You don't think it could be his love-child or something?" he drank from the flask.
She let out a small bark of laughter at that. "His love-child? Really? That's the best you can come up with?" he seemed to take this questioned very serious, and she watched him for a few seconds in incredulously as he contemplated before she shook her head and waved her hand. "No. I have no interest. I've long since stopped trying to figure out the dark, spider webbed agendas and mind of Richelieu."
"Alright." He couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed by that, but he quickly moved on. "What about this priest, Duval? What does he have to do with all of this?" he gestured vaguely with the canteen in front of them and their destination. "No theory's on that either, I take it?"
"He was probably paid to look after them," she said, relenting just a little, but she would quickly clear this up. "There's one thing you need learn, Charlie," she told him, "Don't get involved."
"Really? It's just as simple as that?" he scoffed, taking a last drink of water before he screwed the cap back on and tucked the flask away. "Don't get involved."
Aramis nodded. "That's right."
d'Artagnan snorted and shook his head. "You're so romantic, Aramis, you make the Cardinal's heart bleed. It's a magical feat, seeing as he has a stone in his chest instead of a beating organ."
"Each soul that believes, strengthens my powers." Aramis said in a low voice. She smiled. "You're young yet, feverent, to understand quiet yet. But someday, hopefully very far from now—this life will put calluses on your heart, Charlie."
"Mm." He didn't look convinced.
"Have you met any number of the Musketeers at the garrison? Just because we have this pauldron, doesn't make us invincible, d'Artagnan. We all have our troubles, we all have our vices. Denial's a good one. You're planning to become a Musketeer, aren't you?" she waited for his nod before she continued. "Being a Musketeer mean's being a soldier. You follow orders, like now, and you don't question them—and if you do, you better damn make sure you don't regret the consequences." She was silent for a moment, and d'Artagnan watched her closely. "I love women and men. Porthos loves cards and the thrill of pulling one over on her opponent. And Athos—well, you know. And you know the things the others say about her."
"That's only because—" he stopped himself short before he could betray Athos' private secret that he had gleaned into by chance months ago when they had to escort Emile Bonnaire to see the King. Aramis raised a curious brow at him for his abrupt stop, and he rushed to finish with: "They don't know her like we do." Which was true also.
Now she was the one that didn't look convinced, but kept any questions she might of had to herself as the turned the bend in the road, and the church came into view. "You're in this life now, Charlie."
He glanced away. The light, joking tone had taken an unexpected turn into something that he wasn't prepared for. He wondered if he should try and ask the woman, but it would have to wait until later as they finally approached their destination.
They dismounted at the front of the church, and Aramis tethered the horses while d'Artagnan went in search of Duval.
"Father Duval?" he called through the open door, knocking. "Father—" His eyes landed on the collapsed curate on the floor. "Aramis!" he shouted. He knelt next to the man and checked him for breath that he already knew wasn't there. The blood was too much, still warm and flowing.
Aramis rushed through the door, spotting d'Artagnan next to the Father's body. "Aw." She removed her hat in respect.
"I think we found him." He said, and stood.
They were started into action by a woman's piercing scream for help and ran from the church, around back. Neither he, or Aramis spotted the true Father Duval hiding in the shadows beneath the stair, clutching a heavy records ledger for the church to his chest.
Aramis took in the scene before she even arrived. There were three men; one at the horses, one struggling with a red-haired woman Agnes, and another hurrying back to the horses, with a baby riding-basket strapped to his back. She unhooked her pistol from her belt as she ran, and aimed with a steady hand even as she jumped over a short stone wall and fired. The pistol ball hit her target struggling with the woman, and the man fell dead.
d'Artagnan was only a few step behind the woman, and turned his pistol towards the horses. A shot sounded that wasn't his own, and he yelped, the pistol flying from his grip and he was felled.
Aramis grabbed Agnes as she tried to run after the men as they turned horse and galloped down the rode with the screaming baby.
"No! Henry!" the woman screamed, struggling against Aramis' hold.
"Aramis!" d'Artagnan called, jumping back to his feet. She waved him on and he ran back out front and mounted his horse, returning out back to find that the woman was at least not fighting against Aramis and pacing the grass a few yards away.
"Follow them as closely as you can." Aramis instructed. "My guess is they're headed for Paris." She glanced briefly back at the other woman. "I'll try and find out what going on,"
"This was no ordinary kidnapping, was it?" he asked, his stead dancing beneath him; Aramis didn't have an answer for that. "If that's the case, meet me at the Bonacieux house." And he dug his heels in and urged his horse to a gallop, after the two men.
Aramis blew out her cheeks and pushed her hat back on. When she turned back towards the woman, she jolted in surprise to find the red-haired woman right there, with a small dagger pointed at the hollow in her throat.
"I swear, I'll kill you." Agnes said, pale. "Who are you?"
Aramis doffed her hat. "My name is Aramis of the King's Musketeers. My companion and I have been ordered to escort you and your son to the palace."
"Why?" she looked confused, slowly walking Aramis backward by the point of her dagger.
"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me." No answer was forth-coming. Aramis looked at the small woman, pale and shaking, tears glistening in her eyes, but determinedly held in place by desperation. She wasn't looking at a killer, but a frightened mother. Who would go so far as to kidnap a baby? "How can I put this delicately?" she wondered, and Agnes looked at her in confusion, and then statement as Aramis pressed forward, despite the dagger, and reversed them. "Perhaps you went to a ball somewhere? Had a chance encounter with a charming and persuasive man? One thing lead to another and nine months later little Henry comes along…"
"What kind of woman do you think I am?" She gasped in anger, gabbing at her with the dagger.
Aramis leaned back and avoided being stuck. "I really have no idea. No one's blaming you. Things happen."
"I am faithful to my husband, Philippe Bernard!" she screamed and slashed at her with the dagger.
Aramis grabbed her arm and pried the dagger from it as the woman struggled. She kept hold of the woman's wrist, pulled into the air, forcing the woman close and on her toes. "If this Philippe is truly the father," she tossed the dagger flippantly over her shoulder, "where is he now?"
Tears flooded Agnes blue eyes and Aramis relented her hold. The woman pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. And turned around to face a large tree at the back wall and the few graves marked there. One mound fresh.
"I'm sorry." Aramis whispered, the horror clear in her eyes. She took her hat off and ran her fingers through her curly locks. "That was tactless and harsh."
"Just leave me alone." Agnes shook her head and stormed passed the Musketeer, back towards the church. "Father Duval!"
"Don't go in there!" Aramis called. Anges paused and turned back to look at the woman. "Don't go in there." She repeated, but Agnes turned and ran all the faster. Aramis cursed, shoving her hat onto her head as she took off after the woman, her other hand on the hilt of her sword, keeping the scabbard from tripping her up.
Agnes let out a cry in the doorway, a hand covering her mouth as she stumbled back into the doorway. Aramis grasped her shoulders from behind and turned the woman away from the body, using her own to block her view.
"I'm sorry about Father Duval." Aramis murmured.
"Where is he? What did you do to him?" Agnes demanded.
"What are you talking about?" She was confused. "The men that took your son killed Father Duval just before we arrived. I'm so—"
Agnes shook her head. "That's not Father Duval."
"What?" Aramis looked behind her, at the body of the man.
"That's Brother Ivan, he's the curate."
"Alright..." now there was another question of where Duval was, if not murdered.
"Why have those men taken my baby?" She asked, desperate for answers.
"How long have you lived in the village?" Aramis asked gently. "Something in your past my provide us with a clue."
"I've lived here ever since I fled my father's temper. Father Duval gave me a place to stay."
Aramis paused. "And your husband? What of him?"
Agnes shook her head, the timbre in her voice soft. "He was a simple man, kind and decent. We met and fell in love."
"Okay." Aramis sighed, there didn't seem to be much there at the moment, but they had the ride to Paris yet. "I sent my friend, d'Artagnan, the man that I was with, to follow the men who took your son." Aramis explained as she gently but firmly led the woman to the front of the church were her horse was hitched. "We'll head for Paris ourselves."
This was just supposed to be a simple mission. Go to the church, collect the mother and the baby, and return to Paris. But she should have known better. It turned from a simple mission the instant the Cardinal was involved. But just why and how deeply remained to be discovered.
She groaned internally. She knew it, even as she said it to d'Artagnan, that it was going to come back and haunt her. She was starting to wish she was in the detail to the King's hunting party, and hoped that her sisters were fairing better.
It was a relief when the King decided that they return to base camp and break for lunch. Hunting was second along side doing parade in Porthos' books. Because at least in hunting, even with a party that neared the hundred, there was the distinct possibility of killing something. And in those few minute of the hunt, it made her heart pound and put her on alert. She was a bit envious of Aramis and d'Artagnan, the pair got out of Hunting duty by Treville sending them on some hush-hush mission.
They convened at the bigger tent that had been set up for the King and the Queen, the other Musketeers stationing themselves at their posts, several attendants lining the spaces for the royal and the noble guests.
Still astride her horse, a blur moving in the distance over the hill, Athos settled her horse and rose an eyeglass from her bag to her eye. Several riders on horseback, heading directly for them came into focus. Seven riders in total, five in back and two in front, one appearing to be a woman.
"Captain!" Athos shouted.
Treville wheels his horse around and beside her, taking the offered eyeglass and holding it up. "It can't be." He whispered, his focus on the fast approaching woman. "Guards! Protect the King!" he screamed the order.
It was controlled chaos for a moment, as the Cardinal rushed the King and Queen into their tent, and the Red Guard ordered, and the Musketeers formed a line in front of the royal tent. Treville, Porthos, and Athos dismounting and standing out front.
"On your guard." Treville ordered, and the men behind him locked pikes. "Hold the line."
The two women and man stood ready as the riders approached; the five halting a short distance back, still mounted, while the front pair dismounted and approached.
The woman threw back the veil from across her face and halted a short distance in front of the trio, the man behind her shoulder. "I demand to see the King!" Louis suddenly burst from his tent in shock. Marie smiled at him and murmured, "My beloved son."
"I ordered you to never come back!"
"Where else would I turn when I am in grave danger?"
Louis shoved passed the line of guard in front of his tent, and stopped just behind Treville's shoulder. "I had you banished for life on pain of execution! You tried to steal my throne. Don't you see what you have done? Now I'm obliged to cut your head off and place in on a spike for all to ogle." Tears glistened in his eyes.
"Come inside, Sire." Anne called from the tent entrance next to the Cardinal. "Leave this to the Cardinal and Captain Treville."
"Oh!" Marie rushed forward. She dropped to her knees, reaching between Treville and Porthos for the King, the pair blocking her from going any further. "Please, I beg you! On my knees! I have nowhere else to turn to. In the name of the love that you once bore me!"
Louis sniffled, looking down at her. "I did love you... and you betrayed me."
"No." She gasped. Tears tracking down his face, the King turned and ran back into the tent, the Queen turning in after him. "Abandon me now and I die! Someone is trying to kill me! Please!" she screamed as Porthos and Athos grabbed her and pulled her away from the tent.
Treville and Richelieu entered the royal tent as well, Porthos and Athos watching Marie and her personal guard Vincent, some distance away, Musketeers and Red Guard scattered around them.
Vincent seethed at the two women that barred their way. "The King's mother come to you in peril and you treat her like a common criminal. So much for the chivalrous reputations of the Musketeers." He spat. "I'm disappointed."
Porthos didn't even bat an eyelash. "But on th' bright side, you're not dead yet. Perhaps somethin' to look forward to?"
He chuckled in derision. "You think I'm frightened of couple of woman like you? The King's toy soldiers."
"For a glorified boot boy, you've got an awful lot to say."
Vincent growled and pulled his sword an inch from the scabbard.
The other Guard and Musketeers reacted instantly to this, and Porthos grasped the hilt of her own sword eagerly, Athos casually put her palm around her own.
"Draw if you wish," she stated, "It would be out duty and incidentally, our pleasure, to kill you."
"Vincent," Marie put a hand on his arm. "I am weary. Ladies," she turned to the pair, "I assure you, I have no argument with you. I just wish to seek asylum from people after my life."
Vincent withheld and the guard withdrew. Porthos relaxed her grip in disappointment. She really was looking forward to killing this man. The silence was tense between the four, until finally, the Cardinal exited the royal tent and approached, stopping between Porthos and Athos.
"The King is occupied with pressing business." He stated. "He cannot see you at this time."
"Her Gracious Majesty has survived one attack, only by God's grace." Vincent said, his voice hard as he glared. "We are too few to withstand another attempt!"
"His Majesty's decision is final." Richelieu replied, his grey eyes cold. "You should be so lucky that the King has decided to suspend his ruling of your banishment. The King has ordered the arrest of these assassins, until the time that they are found."
d'Artagnan followed behind the two kidnappers at a distance. Keeping his steed at a steady cantor, his shirtsleeves flapping from under his sleeveless doublet, he ate up the distance. The curiosity that he had fostered from this mysterious mission issued by the Cardinal, grew in weight as more questions filled him. What interest did this men have in this child that they would murder the priest, and attempt to discard the mother?
As Aramis had predicted, the pair road straight for Paris. It was a bit more difficult to followed them by the crowded streets, but even if they did look and spot him, they weren't likely to recognize him. If it weren't for the baby basket strapped to the one man's back, d'Artagnan might have lost them in a moment's distraction.
He followed them to the dying district of Paris. Linens of innumerable colours lined the street, hanging from rope window-to-window, fluttering in the wind. He reigned his horse in and watched as they road into the building at the dead-end, dismounted, and knocked on the door. They were let in by another man.
He watched for nearly half and hour, before he wheeled his stead around and headed to the Bonaciuex residence, the agreed meeting place. Hopefully, Aramis and Agnes would have already arrived, so he could report to the woman and then return to the post to keep watch.
Treville, Athos, Porthos, and a few Red Guard escorted Marie and Vincent, in a different chaperon to the King. Though Louis had presently waved her warranted execution, it was decided that she was to be escorted to a different location than Louvre. If there were indeed assassins after the woman, there was too much of a chance that Louis could be caught in the crossfire.
"The Cardinal has a personal grudge against me." Marie pleaded to Treville, riding beside him in the middle of the group. "Captain, please, you are a reasonable man."
Treville could hardly look at the woman riding next to him. He knew this woman, and the words from her mouth were just too sweet. "You forget I was there when you tried to seize power, Your Majesty." His words were clipped. "With respect, don't expect sympathy from me. Any enemies after you head now, are of your own doing."
Porthos slowly reigned her horse in, Athos beside her at the front of the escort, the other behind them. It was too quiet, something didn't feel right. Her suspicions were proven correct when two dozen yards ahead, an armed man ran out onto the path.
"Ambush!" Porthos screamed, and a second later, several shots were fire from the man on the road and several positioned men among the tree. The group veered to the left, Porthos, Athos, and Vincent firing their pistols in return as they retreated.
"Are you hurt, Your Majesty?" Athos demanded.
"No!"
With that, Vincent, Porthos, Athos and a Red Guard charged the remaining shooters, who attempted to flee, while Treville and the other Guard remained in protection of Marie.
Vincent managed to spur his steed ahead of the others, shooting one of the assassins with his second pistol, and drove up alongside another, diving from his moving horse with a yell and to the ground. They struggled, but Vincent quickly got the upper hand.
"No!" Athos shouted as the man pulled a dagger and Porthos leapt from her horse. "No! We need him for questioning!" But Vincent was already slitting the man's throat with a twisted expression.
"No!" Porthos grabbed him, but the man was already dead. She shoved him away.
"No one who seeks to harm my Queen warrants the privilege of questions!" Vincent spat, breathing heavily.
Porthos wanted to throttle the man, but was forced to stand-down when Treville road up upon the scene, his pistol reloaded and in hand.
He took in the scene. The dead assassin crumpled to the ground with his throat slit, Vincent defiant and satisfied with a bloody dagger, Porthos with a deathly posture, and Athos still astride her horse in a cold fury.
"What's happened? Were their any men taken?" Treville questioned.
"No." Athos answered. "Several escaped, and Vincent killed this one."
"Oh!" Treville eyed the other man. He shook his head, there was nothing they could do for it now. "We must return to the palace, while the assassin's position is weak."
Treville returned to the palace with Marie and Vincent. The meeting with the King and Marie in the hall was brief, with assurances to the King that all the assailants would be apprehended. And it ended with the King once again in tears, and storming from the room. The Cardinal walked with him off the grounds. And what the other man said, only confirmed what he was fearing. That during her exile, Marie had been gather supporters, and there were rumours that they were building a militia.
Treville remembered all too well the days of Marie de Medici's attempted coup those years back. The chaos, the bloodshed—brother against brother. He never want to see those times again. It was not going to happen on his watch. He was going to trust his instincts, they rarely failed him. Where Marie was concerned, there was always something more large and devious at play.
Just what it was, remained to be seen at the moment.
Athos and Porthos had stayed behind at the scene of the ambush, while Treville had gone ahead to the palace with Marie and Vincent. The Red Guard were collecting the bodies of the fallen to take back to the morgue, where perhaps they might reveal clues as to their employer.
"If you were Marie's personal guard, wouldn't you want to asked questions, find out who's behind this?" Athos wondered out loud, her confusion evident. "Why kill them when he didn't have to?"
Porthos scoffed and shook her head, her hands on her hips. "Vincent was out of control. You saw 'im. It was like 'e relished killin' that man."
"A good soldier is never out of control." She said, her arms crossed over her chest. "And he's one of the best."
"A soldier can be good and a killer." Porthos pointed out. She sighed and turned in a slow circle where all the main shooting had happened. "They had the weaponry of a small army, yet not one shot found its mark? What's wrong with this picture to you?"
"No a scratch on any of us. With as many of them as there were, they should have at least hit one of us. But nothing."
"Wouldn't you at least expect to see some damage to the trees?" She asked, gesturing around them. "Or odd piece of splintered bark? But there's just nothin'."
"I don't see any used wadding, either."
Porthos looked back at her. "And no spent musket balls."
"We should get back to Treville, he'll want to hear about this."
Porthos nodded her agreement and the two woman mounted and wheeled their horses about, and set off at a cantor. This whole thing smelt off, but finally, they were on the trail that led to the cause of this particular stink.
They found Treville out in the grassy training yard outback the garrison. They handed their horses off to the stable boys, and walked on either side of their Captain and explained what they had discovered.
"Captain, there were eight shots fired—yet no damage and not a simple injury to anyone." Porthos accompanied gesture was a double slash through the air in a flat X.
"The gunshots were nothing more than a firework display." Athos said.
"You're certain?" Treville questioned.
She replied dryly with, "Either that or they were the worst assassins ever."
"No assassin that bad exists," Porthos agreed. "None that were left breathin' at least."
He sighed. "The last time I went up against Marie de Medici, she threw me in prison. I'd rather not go back—perhaps if the food were better…" He paused. "If this ambush was staged, I need to know why."
"Vincent could have captured the gunman." Athos said. "They would have talked sooner or later."
"'E wanted to make sure they wouldn't." Porthos finished the thought.
He nodded in agreement. "Keep watch on him. And Marie, if you can. They make a move, I want to hear about it. Either he's manipulating her or they're in it together." They stopped at the garrison tunnel. "Either way, we need to know what their endgame is."
Porthos and Athos nodded and went to fetch their horses again as Treville climbed the stairs to his office.
"Aramis and d'Artagnan will be sad to 'ave missed out on all the fun." Porthos noted.
"I'm sure their mission is just as pleasant and uncomplicated as ours." Athos drawled.
"The two of 'em with a baby? I'm sad to 'ave missed it!"
Constance wasn't surprised that when d'Artagnan returned unexpectedly, it was with a favour in mind. This wouldn't be the first stray that he put in her arms, but it definitely was nothing like the first. She still shuddered to think of the man, and what might of happened had d'Artagnan not returned when he did. The only good thing to come of that situation, was that she had been able to get the young man to agree to give her sword and shooting lessons—without Bonacieux discovering, of course. It was a secret between them.
Once she had agreed to house Agnes, he left her with a message to give to Aramis as soon as they arrived. She agreed, told him to be careful, for which he waved of her concern and then she was left to wait.
She went back to making dinner, adding more ingredients for more servings. She hadn't even met the woman yet, but her sympathy and sorrow for her was expanding the more she tried to picture what the woman must be going through—but it soon became too difficult to just picture, let alone actually go through, so she forced herself to stop.
When Aramis finally arrived, Constance ushered Agnes into the sitting room, the room already radiating warmth from the fire she lit in the fireplace and the candles she'd lit. Though she knew the warmth of the fire would do nothing to take the cold from her soul at her stolen child.
"I can't begin to imagine what you're going through," Constance murmured to the woman, "But if anyone can help get your son back, it's Aramis and d'Artagnan." She left Agnes with a cup of hot tea and returned to the kitchen with Aramis.
"d'Artagnan spoke with you?" Aramis asked quietly of Constance in the kitchen, so Agnes wouldn't hear.
"Yes," Constance nodded, stirring the bubbling stew. "He followed the men who kidnapped the baby, to the dye district. They have a compound at the dead-end with other armed men. He's keeping watch over it now."
"Good." Aramis nodded. "Thank you, Constance. I know you had no reason to do this after the last time—"
"But this isn't the same, is it?" She said, giving Aramis a filled bowl of stew and turned to fill another. "You have to get that woman's baby back, Aramis."
"I know. I know." There was something in her voice that made Constance pause and look at her, but she didn't know the woman well enough to question what it was.
Constance and Aramis returned to the sitting room. Agnes sat on the lounge in the middle of the room, staring into the fire.
"I know you don't feel hungry, but you should eat something—keep your strength up." Agnes nodded and accepted the bowl of steaming stew, but Constance didn't feet offended when the woman set it on the side table and went back to hugging the knitted white blankie and staring blankly into the flickering fireplace. She turned to Aramis and whispered, "Try to make her eat something. I'll go and join d'Artagnan."
Aramis nodded and back in the kitchen Constance put on her cloak, and filled another bowl with stew, covering it with a towel to take to d'Artagnan, the district a short walk from the house.
Aramis removed her hat and sat in the chair next to the lounge, and set it and her bowl of stew on the small table that separated the two. She looked at the woman, able to understand from experience of her own when she was younger, some of what she might be feeling.
"I don't want to have to fight you again."
"Being apart from him," she whispered, speaking for the first time since they arrived at the Bonacieux's. "It's like a wound that won't heal. They pain only gets worse."
"He's your flesh and blood."
Agnes looked at her, sniffling. "Do you have family?"
Aramis blew out a breath and sat back in the chair for a moment. "Not unless you count the Musketeers." She answered after a pause. It might sound sad to an outsider, but it was Athos, Porthos, and now d'Artagnan that held her together.
"No husband? No one to come home to at night?"
The Musketeers shook her head and gave a less than casual shrug. "Something always gets in the way." She admitted, taking the stew in-hand just for something to do. She took a bite, and though it was warm and tasty, flavoured to her liking, she didn't feel all that hungry.
Agnes' head titled lightly, and she looked sad on her behalf. "Have you ever felt it? Love? I mean real, true love? That need that leaves you incapable of existing without the other person?" Her tone was wistful and it was clear that she was speaking from experience.
Aramis swallowed and leaned forward, looking into the dark gravy of the stew before meeting her eyes. "I was sixteen. We—we were going to marry... but it didn't work out. He left. I was heartbroken, but..." she shook her head helplessly, trailing off; her words so loaded with meaning and yet left so much unsaid.
Agnes gasped lightly. "16? So young. And you've never found love since?"
She remembered Marsac, but had come to realize that that hadn't been true love. And anything pure that had been between them—the events of Savoy, and the five years after it—had spoiled and twisted it into something bitter and best left in the dark.
She set the bowl back on the table and shifted from the chair onto the lounge next to Agnes. "If I answer, will you tell me why those people on the road ran from you?"
Suddenly, Agnes' eyes brimmed with tears and she sobbed into her hand. "It's nobody's business!"
She sighed lightly, gently touching the woman's shoulder. "If you don't trust me, how can I help you?"
She wiped at her eyes uselessly. "There's only one man that I ever trusted."
"And there's no possibility of me taking his place." Aramis murmured. "I know I dress like a man, but I am far from it." That at least got a twitch of amusement from the red-haired mother, and that was more than she had been expecting. "Please, help me understand."
Agnes nodded and took a deep breath through her nose, sitting up a little bit straighter, clutching the knit blanket like a life raft. "My husband, Philippe, was like a helpless child when I first met him. He'd been locked away so long, he never learned to fend for himself. He didn't look like other men..." She paused for a moment and Aramis stayed silent. "He was malformed from birth. Touched by the devil, they said."
"Is that why those villagers attacked you like that?" Aramis asked.
She nodded, her voice hard. "Ignorance and superstition. I was sent to be his nurse. I was petrified. I'd believed everything I'd heard." She shook her head. "They couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had the kindest heart I'd ever known. He was shy and confused—frightened. But full of innocent love and goodness."
"What of his family?"
"Well, they abandoned him at birth. His mother came to visit once. In secret—because she was shamed. I was lonely and he was kind. I soon learned to see the beauty of his soul. And I fell in love with him. We married in secret. Father Duval had kept Philippe out of sight for most of his life and when Henry was born—everything changed. Philippe was alive. He refused to hide any longer. We walked through the village together as a family."
Aramis gave a gentle smile. "That must have been a fine moment."
"Yes, very fine, indeed." Agnes returned the smile, but hers was bitter. "They beat him—until his bones shattered. Burned him—while he still breathed life."
Aramis paled in horror. "You saw this? You were there?"
"They made me watch." She paused, struggling, her fist clenched over her heart. "But he's still with me. In here. And in Henry. Oh, Henry!" She sobbed, crying for her stolen child, the pain too much.
Aramis reached up and gently brushed her cheek with the back of her finger and vowed. "I promise you, on my honour, the safe return of your child. I don't know why they've taken Henry, but I will reunite the two of you."
Constance spotted d'Artagnan staked out at the house at the bend in the street, his eyes trained on the compound, leaning back on a pile of wood in his sleeveless doublet despite the cool night air.
She allowed herself a brief second of praise at his profile, before she approached. "Here, I brought you something to eat." She said in way of greeting, holding out the covered bowl.
"This looks great, I'm starving." d'Artagnan took it with a grin, she took the towel back with a flick of her wrist. He ducked his head, inhaling its aroma from the rising steam. "Thank you!" and took a big bite. "I take it that Aramis arrived?"
Constance rolled her eyes at his manners, but nodded. He turned his attention back towards the house and continued to eat. Constance stood slightly in front of him, his bent knee in her wrapped cloak, and watching the building as well.
"What are we looking for again?"
He ignored the we. "A way in. A way out. Which room the baby's in—anything that helps, really."
She shot him a glance and raised her chin. "I can fight."
He immediately shook his head. "No. You're not going any nearer that place than where you're standing now."
"Because you don't trust me?"
He looked her straight in the eye. "Because I couldn't forgive myself if you were harmed."
Constance was thankful for the dying light as her cheeks warmed at his thought and tone. She was a grown woman, she shouldn't blush, but d'Artagnan somehow always managed to make her. She made herself look from his dead eyes and back to the house. She cleared her throat, and her own tone took on something of its own.
"You should see the look on Agnes' face when she speaks of Henry, d'Artagnan. That bond." She sighed. "To value something over your own life. I want to know love that strong."
d'Artagnan set the empty bowl beside him, watching as a woman knocked on the door, but could see Constance's profile beside him. He had that, for four of the greatest women he'd had known. And said, with a twisted heart, "You'll have children of your own, soon enough."
"I suppose." She glanced at the ground. "If it's meant to be."
"I've been watching women come in and out for hours now!" he stood and gestured. "Who are they?"
"Wet nurses." She said; and the woman who knocked entered as another woman left, and the door was shut tight again. "How do you think the baby's been feeding?"
"Huh." He was silent, his head hung lightly, his arm crossed over his chest. The idea came to him, and he resisted it at first, but he was sure it was brilliant and slowly, he turned to the woman beside him.
She caught his look. "What?" she wondered wearily. He raised a row at her and her eyes widened a moment later as she interpreted the brow. She shook her head immediately and scoffed. "Oh, no. No, no!"
"What's the problem?"
"You just told me that this was as far as you would let me go!"
He shrugged helplessly. "Circumstances change in the field, Constance."
"I can't!" she insisted.
"Why not?"
She fumbled. "I—how can I be a wet nurse if I haven't got any milk?"
"Improvise." He smiled charmingly.
"Yeah, that's all you seem to do."
"It's worked so far, hasn't it?" she gave him an unimpressed look. "Constance, I will not let anything happen to you. I would give my life before I let that happen. Just give it the night, alright? If not you, then I'm sure if you lend Aramis a dress, she can do it." Yeah, he still did owe her for what happened after they had first met at the ruins just outside Paris.
The silence was pregnant.
"I'm going to tell her you said that." And she turned, heading back towards home.
"Please don't!" he pleaded, cringing.
She smiled. Of course she'd already thought about it and agreed, but he didn't have to know that. His change was just so sudden it took her a second to get her footing again. She would help in any way she could to help get Agnes, Henry back—is she was in the same situation, she'd hope the same would be done for her.
It was the next morning, and d'Artagnan had met a short distance away Aramis, Constance, and Agnes to add some legs to this brilliant plan of his. Of course, he had the entire night to procrastinate his idea of sending Constance into unknown danger, but they had all agreed it was their best option to get a hold on the situation inside.
They went over some of the key points as they walked back towards the kidnapper's house.
"We need to know which room the baby's in and how many men there are." He said.
"He likes music." Agnes told her. "If he cries, sing him a lullaby."
"Will humming do?" Constance wondered nervously. "My singing might frighten him."
"Then give him this." she handed over the knit blanket that had not once left her hands. She whispered, "Tell him I love him."
Constance nodded to her, almost cradling the blanket in her arms like it was the baby. Aramis put her hand on the woman's shoulder and guided Agnes over to a long alcove in the stone wall, the area obscured by several flapping sheets.
d'Artagnan kept on with Constance, a reassuring hand at the small of her back.
"Why are you letting me do this again?" she wondered.
"Because of the brilliant plan I had—it was because of you that I came up with it." He reminded her.
"Great." She muttered dryly. "Why don't I wait to take credit for it, until later, okay?"
He gave her a small smile. "You're going to do great, Constance." His hand briefly squeezed her waist. "Be careful."
"Thanks for the tip. I bear it in mind." She said
He stopped walking, and he felt pride when her gait didn't falter as she headed straight on.
Her breath was shaky as she made for the front door. Don't be a chicken, Constance. This was exactly what you said you could do the other night. She hissed to herself and then she straightened her shoulders, stopped, and knocked.
The eyehole set in the center of the door opened, and she briefly say an eye staring at her before the door was opened and a pistol was directed her way.
"Who're you?" the man asked.
"The wet nurse." She said.
After a brief moment, his eyes lingering on her like a physical touch, he nodded and gestured her inside. He went up the staircase and she followed.
"What happened to the other girl?"
"She's sick."
She remembered last night when d'Artagnan's idea was pitched to Aramis and the woman had laughed. Constance had glared and for whatever reason defended d'Artagnan's absurd idea. Aramis grinned and told her about Meeqs. She'd let out barks of laughter as she pictured it. Next Constance met with the Gascon, she'd made a sly comment about cowboys.
He'd looked at her in confusion for a brief moment and then his eyes widened as he realized what she knew, and blush flooded him olive cheeks, and she hated how adorable he had looked until he gathered himself and told her indignantly that sometimes, like now, acting was a part of the gig.
"Good. You've got a nicer backside."
It's just a part. She thought. And she played it, even if her heart was thumping like a drum the whole time. It was what she projected that shielded her—flirty wet nurse.
It was a relief when she finally escaped him in the baby's room at the end of the hall. After the brief exchange with the wet nurse already there, she was left alone with Henry. Holding the baby in her arms, she understood what it could be that Agnes was going through being separated from him.
"Hello," she cooed to him softly. "I brought a message from someone who loves you very much."
Checking to make sure that she wasn't being watched, she walked over to the open-shuttered window, and waved the knit blanket out the window as signal.
"That means nine men." Aramis said, spotting the signal from where the three of them watched and waited.
"A little early in the day for a stroll." Porthos commented.
Athos and Porthos followed Marie and Vincent through Paris at a distance. They'd snuck out of the palace. Treville was right to send the two women to watch them.
The pair paused at the corner of the street, unknowingly at the moment opposite Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Agnes; to watch Marie and Vincent to the house at the end of the street.
Aramis watched the pair pass, and her eyes widened as the recognized the former Queen. "What in God's name is she doing here?"
Agnes own shock was visible. "I know that woman."
Porthos spotted Aramis and d'Artagnan across the street behind the fluttering sheets and elbow Athos next to her, jerking her chin in their direction. "That can't be a coincidence."
"Shall we say hello?" Athos said, and the pair approached.
"Fancy meetin' you two 'ere." Porthos announced as she and Athos joined their little party in the alcove.
"What are you two doing here?" d'Artagnan asked in surprise.
"The same question could be asked of you, too." Porthos raised a brow.
"The baby that we were sent to retrieve," he glanced at Agnes, "was kidnapped by the men inside that house."
"Is that who I think it is?" Aramis growled.
Porthos nodded. "Marie de Medici. We followed 'er from the palace."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Anges shook her head, drawing their attention. "That's just Philippe's mother."
The other's were confused, but Aramis' eyes widened. It couldn't be. That was just too insane to be true!
"Who's Marie de Medici?" He asked.
"I believe that's Your Majesty, to you peasants." Athos remarked.
"Your M—"
"She's the King's mother."
"Are you certain that's the woman who came to visit your husband?" Aramis demanded of Agnes.
"Yes!" she was started by the forcefulness behind the other woman's voice.
d'Artagnan looked at them in the following silence before he looked back at the compound. "Constance is in there on her own."
Aramis briefly lifted her hat and ran her hand through her hair. "There's nothing we can do about that at the moment." When he looked about to protest, she continued with, "Constance can handle this, Charlie. We wouldn't have let her in otherwise."
d'Artangna exhaled and nodded.
Athos turned to Aramis. "Who is Philippe and what does he have to do with Marie?"
Aramis looked at Agnes, and only spoke after the woman gave a nod. And explained briefly her thoughts on the connection between Marie, Philippe, and Louis.
"You're saying that Marie was pregnant with twins, but Louis sits on the throne because Philippe was deformed." Athos said slowly.
Back at the Palace, the Cardinal was learning the very same truth from Father Duval, who had survived the attack at the church, and made his way to Paris on foot, the church's ledger in his possession. In it, was the recorded truth that Marie fell ill on her journey to Fontainebleau and Duval had birth the child(ren). The first baby born was Philippe, but he was deformed. Then, unexpectedly, a second boy was born, healthy—Louis. The court officials only arrived to witness Louis being born. And Marie had Duval secret Philippe away, where the Father raised him at his church.
It wasn't too hard after that to put together what was happening next, that Marie knew about the legitimate child bore by her first born.
"So what does she want with Henry?" Agnes asked.
"It can't be nostalgia." Athos said. "She doesn't have that bone in her body."
"She did attempt a coup, remember?" Aramis reminded.
"Henry 'as the right to the throne." Porthos agreed. "She could raise 'im 'ow she'd like, and in the meantime, she'd 'ave control, just like she always wanted."
Aramis expression hardened with a resolve she didn't want to think about. "We can't let her take Henry."
When the door opened a minute later, Aramis took her harquebus from where she'd leaned it against the wall, and stuck the muzzle out from between the hanging linens as Marie and Vincent stepped out. She aimed, ready to take the shot, but after a moment of observation, she lowered it and let the pair pass unscathed.
"They haven't take him." She whispered in relief.
"So, what's the plan?" d'Artagnan asked.
"We're going in."
Agnes clenched her hands together at her chest, her heart thumping. She was going to get Henry back!
Athos slammed her fist against the door, banging on the wood before she quickly crouched and flattened herself to it as the eyehole was open and the man on the inside peered out. Porthos was on the left, Aramis and d'Artagnan on the right. All hidden from view. A moment later, the door opened and Porthos punched the guard with her harsh strength in the face. His eyes rolled up into his head, and as his knees started to buckle, the tall woman grabbed his vest and pulled his outside, throwing him to the ground over Athos. Athos quickly grabbed the door and pulled in closed again. Aramis tossed her harquebus across to Porthos, and a minute later, Athos shoved the door open again, striking another guard, and the three women and young man charged in. Shoving passed the man, Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan headed up the stairs. Porthos only paused long enough to crack the man's head with the butt of the rifle, before she went through the door at the bottom of the stairs.
d'Artagnan and Athos stepped onto the landing first, and walked casually over to the four playing cards at the small table.
"What kind of guards are you lot?" d'Artagnan said and they looked at the pair in confusion. "Going on like this, just about anybody could walk in here." And he shot the nearest man with his pistol, jump starting the other three men.
As Athos and d'Artagnan contended with those remaining three, Aramis walked quickly passed down the hall towards Constance and the babe. A man came running towards her at the sound of the gunshot, and she quickly grabbed him, shoving him against the wall and sliding her main gauche between his ribs. As he slumped down to the floor, she turned to find another man charging her and she drew her sword smoothly, meeting the man's blows. They exchanged briefly and quickly, the fight over within ten seconds as she found an opening and slashed his belly wide open.
"Constance?" She pushed the curtains from the doorway and stepped into the room at the end of the hall, only to stop short at the sight that greeted her. Constance with Henry in her arms, and her bodice halfway unlaced, her breasts nearly spilling from the top.
"Don't Musketeers ever knock?" Constance scoffed and turned.
Aramis looked more amused then shamefaced. "Apologies. But we are short for time." Constance was a beautiful woman, and if there was one thing that Aramis loved, it was a beautiful woman—so of course she looked.
d'Artagnan grappled with the man. It was embarrassing that he was struggling with this one man when Athos was facing two opponents and holding her own. He turned them, shoving the man away. And saw a grand opening. Before the man could move, he kicked him square in the chest. The man's eyes widened and he let out a short cry as he fell out the two story window, and was cut short as he hit the ground. d'Artagnan leaned over the sill and looked down, making sure that the man was actually dead.
"Constance!" Aramis urged her as the woman struggled to lace herself back up.
"Take him!"
"What?"
"Aramis!"
"Mm." The Musketeer quickly sheathed her sword and took the baby in her arms, they naturally formed to cradle the baby against her chest. "Hello." She cooed. "So you're the one who all the fuss is about?"
With nimble fingers, Constance started to lace her bodice back up. She'd gotten an unexpected visit from a woman who turned out to be Henry's grandmother and when the baby started to cry, she'd been forced into the play of preparing to feed him. Luckily, before the deed actually had to happen, the woman and her scary companion, left. And then, just moments later, she'd heard the first shot.
Henry started to sniffle and cry.
"Aw, don't cry." Aramis shushed him, and started to lightly bounce him.
"Sing to him." Constance said, "he likes that, remember?"
Aramis did only after the briefest of hesitations as she looked at Constance's back before turning her attention back to Henry and she started to hum a song her mother used to sing to her when she was a baby, circulating the room.
"There was a woman here," Constance started.
"I know." She continued to hum.
"But... the things she was saying... apparently she's—"
"The grandmother."
Constance looked at her. "Is there anything that you don't know?"
Henry quieted. And Aramis grinned at her. "Not anymore. It's a gift, you see?"
"There." Constance straightened, finally done lacing. She turned to her. "Now—"
"Baby, now!" and the ninth man barged into the room.
"Take him!" Aramis shouted, intending to hand Henry over to Constance but the other woman just reacted and grabbed the Musketeer's sword from her belt. The man slashed and Constance spun, the sword raised. She flinched at the shocks that went up her arm the contact.
It was not the same when she practised with d'Artagnan. This man wanted to kill her. She backed the woman and baby back protectively into the corner.
Aramis could instantly tell that the woman at least had a basic familiarity with a sword. There wasn't time to switch sword for baby, the man would cut them down without pause.
"You got this?" Aramis demanded of the woman who planted her feet and stood in stance, the sword ready. If anything happened to this red-haired woman, d'Artagnan would never forgive her.
"I got this!" and she could hear it in her voice as the man came at her with fast strikes, she blocked them almost without falter in quick succession. And in a sequence that would make any raw recruit jealous, suddenly drove at the man, forcing him backwards with fast strokes. His sword arm knocked against the wall, and with a cry, she slashed the sword into the opening and sent him sprawling dead to the floor.
"Enjoying the view, are you?" Athos drawled, panting lightly.
d'Artagnan quickly pulled his head back in the window and turned to see Athos on the floor, giving on of her assailants a boot to the gut. He stumbled backwards and Athos jumped to her feet, and ran the man through with her sword before he could regain his stance. d'Artagnan quickly picked up one of the chairs and bludgeoned the other man at Athos' back.
Breathing heavily, Constance started down at the man at her feet, dead at her hand. She couldn't see the wound with him face-down, but the spreading blood was clear enough.
Aramis slowly approached. "Constance?" she murmured softly, and put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. She felt the woman jump. "You going to be alright?"
"Mm." She gave a fast nod and turned from the man, and to the woman. "You? Henry?"
"Both fine—thanks to you. That was some impressive sword work, Madame."
"Thanks." She allowed herself a small smile of pride.
Ever since d'Artagnan promised to teach her to shoot and swordfight, she'd made sure he never forgot. Every free chance of his, she stole, to teach her over the last couple months. Every free chance she had to herself when he was away at the garrison or on a mission and her husband was out on business, she'd practice with d'Artagnan's extra pistol when he left it and the old blunt sword he was able to commandeer from the garrison for her lessons. But he kept his word and was vigilant in his lessons—and as today had shown, it was a credit to her skills and his ability to teach.
"You're good with him." She remarked to Aramis, stepping to the woman's shoulder as way of distraction, both gazing at the baby in her arms.
"Mm. Get's your maternal clock ticking, doesn't it?"
Constance let out a soft sigh as her gaze turned wistful. She wondered whether she would ever have a boy or a girl, but decided that it didn't matter. It would have his straight dark locks, but her grey-blue eyes that would stand out with his olive-toned skin—
This wasn't good. She was thinking of children in terms of d'Artagnan being the father and not Bonacieux. She cleared throat awkwardly and Aramis looked at her curiously as she stepped back.
"Here." She slid the sword back into Aramis belt.
Porthos ran up the stairs and took in the scene, the five dead men sprawled up and down the hall in some sort of death fashion, and she looked disappointed. "I missed all th' fun?"
"Sorry, Porthos." Athos flipped her hair out of her face. "Maybe next time."
d'Artagnan headed down the hall to see what was taking Constance and Aramis as Athos consoled the tall woman.
"What are you waiting for?" Constance gestured to the door. "There's a worried mother out there, waiting for her baby!"
"Right!" Aramis rushed from the room with Henry wrapped in the knit blanket, and Constance grabbed her cloak, crashing into d'Artagnan outside the room.
"Alright?" he asked her. She nodded. He grinned. "That was great, wasn't it? Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?"
Her expression tightened, and still coming off the adrenaline rush, Constance punched him in the gut. From her anger at him putting her in that situation; for her thoughts about him earlier; and because of his idiotic smile. She huffed and stalked passed him.
He wheezed, holding his stomach and looking after her in confusion. "Apparently not." It was a moment later that he noticed the hand hanging out the doorway and looked inside the room to see the man's body and wondered if that had anything to do with it.
As the left the house, Porthos saw the man sprawled and unmoving and glanced up at the window on the second story. She looked at d'Artagnan. "Did you throw that guy out the window?" he nodded. "Next time, you get the downstairs." He chuckled lightly in response.
Agnes cried when Aramis' returned Henry back to her, but they couldn't linger, and so had to urge her along as they group headed back towards the garrison.
They'd made it back to the garrison without incident, and if their odd group drew attention, it wasn't by the unwanted. d'Artagnan had split off and walked Constance back home, and Athos and Porthos went in search of Treville while Aramis settled Henry and Agnes in a spare room on the ground floor.
Aramis paused at the door, watching unseen as Agnes sang to her baby. Her voice was simple, but she found it beautiful anyways. It held every ounce of that mother's love, and that was beautiful.
She uncocked the flint of her harquebus and leaned it against the wall, and gently sat on the bed next to the bundled baby. Agnes smiled from where she knelt in front of the bed, and Aramis returned it.
"He's beautiful, Agnes." She whispered, her finger lightly brushing across the baby's brow.
"You'll have one of your own, one day, Aramis."
She shook her head. "I don't think that's in the cards for me anymore."
Agnes looked at her intensely and with sympathy. "You—"
"You really did love Philippe?" Aramis interrupted her. "Even though..."
"You learn to see passed appearances, into people's inner most desires. His were true and honest—we saved each other from a life of shadows." Agnes told her knowingly. "That's what those two women and young man have done for you."
"Perhaps you're right."
"My husband may be dead—and that's my ill fortune—but I will remain faithful to him. But I will never be alone." She turned back to her son, her eyes shinning clear with love. "Philippe gave me Henry, he's my life now."
Seeing Agnes with Henry, it brought back memories of what her life could have been when Aramis was sixteen. And though it wouldn't have been the same as Musketeering, it would have fulfilled her in a way that soldiering couldn't.
d'Artagnan managed to make it back to the garrison just before Treville returned from his brief and interesting meeting with the Cardinal. He was right when he said that the secrets hidden in the shadows would eventually reveal themselves—he was just a bit shocked by the severity to King and Country they were.
"So what do we do now?" Aramis questioned him as they walked through the portico that led from the room Agnes was placed in, towards the stair in the yard.
"The boy goes to the Cardinal." Treville said.
"And then what?"
"Is the child ready?" Treville said instead.
"Hasn't the woman suffered enough?" Athos replied.
"Absolutely." Porthos said unhelpfully. "She's been with Aramis for two days!"
Treville didn't pause as he continued up the stairs to his office. He'd given his order. But while the others stopped at the bottom of the stair, Aramis took the steps two at a time, her harquebus clenched in her hand.
"You know what will happen. The boy with disappear. He'll be murdered, and Agnes too, probably."
"I'm sorry. My hands are tied. You have to take him to the Cardinal." Treville stopped at his office door, his back to the woman. "I'd go with you myself, but I'm busy. Damn paperwork, you see?" he looked at Aramis pointedly over his shoulder. "It will take me the rest of the afternoon—at least." And he shut the door to his office, effectively cutting off the conversation.
Aramis paused and stared at the door a moment, and then smirked in realisation. "Why Captain, I knew there was a reason why I love you so."
She knew what she had to do, but she wouldn't drag the others into it. This would get her a court martial, or dead if she were caught. The Cardinal might accept it in the end, but Marie and Vincent, they'd be out for blood.
When Aramis came down from Treville's office, she was subdued and angry, but grudgingly accepting, and the other's agreed to let her tell Agnes what was going to happen. They three convened at their usual table in the yard, and ate. It was near a half-hour when Athos went to get Aramis.
"Aramis? Aramis?" she stuck her head through the window to the room, but it was empty but for Aramis' pauldron laying on the bed. Athos cursed and reached through the window, grabbing the leather. She returned to the others grimly.
"Is that—" d'Artagnan's eyes widened as he saw the shoulder guard clenched in Athos' hand.
"She's gone." Athos stated plainly, a sharp note in her tone.
"Should 'ave known she was up to somethin'." Porthos shook her head. "She was too compliant. Right, what are we goin' to do?" she asked.
"Find her, before she get's herself killed."
"Any idea's where they might have gone?" d'Artagnan wondered as they got their mounts from the stable boy.
Porthos spoke after a moment in thought as they spurred their horses out the garrison gate. "I know just the place."
Aramis had secured passage for Agnes and Henry to Spain that would leave on the opposite side of the river in an hour, but Agnes was refusing to leave and to see the truth. An arm around her shoulders, she lead the woman and her baby down the path of the market that lay outside the Westside of Paris' boarder.
It was a place where many faces came and did there business, and then went away again. Not all of it necessarily legal, but necessary nonetheless. It was the perfect place, if not the obvious place, for someone like Agnes to go to disappear.
Like this, with her hair tucked up under her hat and her cloak obscuring the curve of her body, they looked just like a man, his wife, and their child. Without her pauldron, she felt a sense of guilt—but this was not Musketeer's business, this was her business. And she needed Agnes to see! to understand.
She found a private place for cover by a tree surrounded by stacks of small barrels and kegs.
Aramis hissed harshly but truthfully to the woman. "You'll be dead in a week! Poison in your food, a knife twisted in your ribs in a long, empty corridor. Wake up! Marie de Medici won't stop. You think the Cardinal will let you continue on? How can you be so naive after everything that has happened?" She grasped her shoulder and continued despite the brimming tears in the woman's blue gaze. "You're an expendable nuisance—nothing more. As long as Henry lives, he's a threat to Louis' throne, Marie has proved that, and Richelieu will not allow it. At best, Henry would be taken from you and raised as the child of another, his life endlessly manipulated by those who will go to any lengths for power—and there are no shortage of them here in Paris. You can never go home, Agnes..." Aramis pulled the woman into a gentle hold and Agnes sobbed quietly. "If you want any sort of life with you son, you leave—forever—now—and never look back."
"This is the place to come if you're lookin' for quick passage out of the country." Porthos announced, her arms spread.
d'Artagnan looked around curiously. Though he'd been living in Paris for a bit now, it was places like these, or the Court of Miracles that made this a strange and new place all over again, and filled with curiosity and danger. It looked almost just like a encampment/marketplace.
"Let's split up, shall we?"
He and Athos agreed, and spread as they walked deeper into the trees. People didn't even spare him a glance, and went about their business. He could see the tents were people homed, and the fires scattered around, both small and grand. He passed a butchers. And spotted a bond fire with a pig roasting on a spit, and the scent that wafted in his direction made his mouth water. He noticed stalls and people doing trade, there even seemed to be a blacksmith of a sort. Like the Court, this seemed to be a thriving hamlet of it's own.
d'Artagnan stopped, letting the bodies brush by him as he did a slow and intense look-about. He knew that Aramis didn't want to promote herself, so she would be hidden out of sight with Agnes. And he was sure, that it was purely by chance that he was standing right where he was, and looked right where he had when he did, otherwise he might not have spotted Aramis through the gap in some stacked barrels by a tree. Their eyes met, and even at the distance, he could see her curse.
"Porthos!" he called, spotting the dark-skinned woman a short distance away in the crowd. Porthos, in turn, alerted Athos. And though each three were different distances away from the woman's chosen hiding place, they converged, and arrived at the same moment. It was a shame that Aramis decided that they either couldn't be trusted or it was an act of keeping them out of it, but they would return the misunderstanding clear enough.
Agnes tightened her hold upon Henry as they three entered their little space, and Aramis put her arm out across the front of the woman, as if to block a quick grab.
"Good afternoon." d'Artagnan remarked to the Musketeer, thumbs hooked in his belt.
"Excuse us, Madame." Athos murmured politely to Agnes.
"I'm not handing them over to the Cardinal." Aramis told the woman straight and firm.
"Aramis," he scoffed, arms cross over his chest. "That baby is heir to the throne!"
"They could charge you with treason." Porthos added unhappily. "What are you thinkin'?"
"I made her a promise." She swore firmly, shoulders back.
There was a tense silence, and then Athos said clearly, and with a pinch of amusement. "Then we'd better help you."
Aramis chuckled in realisation at being taken for a fool, and the others grinned back.
"You didn't really think we were goin' to take the baby, did you?" Porthos chuckled.
"If you'd told us what you were doing, we might've be able to plan this properly." Athos added.
"Yes, sorry." The Spaniard at least had the courtesy to look sheepish.
"No, no." Athos waved her apology away. "Let's keep it suicidal—you know I like that. Oh, and you forgot this." She held out the woman's abandoned pauldron.
"Leave this lyin' around, and someone might think o' stealin' it." Porthos added.
Aramis looked it with a smile and strapped it to her shoulder one-handed, with an ease that showed just exactly how many times she had done it.
d'Artagnan drew Aramis' attention and leaned in, looking amused and almost triumphant. "Don't get involved. That's what you said. How's that working out for you?" he smiled, pleased as the woman glowered at him.
Aramis shook her head. "I say one thing..."
"It's always that one thing that haunts us." He said with a wisdom that countered his young age. He patted her shoulder consolingly.
"Things just got complicated!" Porthos announced, staring through a gap in the barrels. "Vincent."
The others found their own notches and watched as Vincent and a few other men rode through. They quickly ducked out of sight as the riders rode passed.
"The bridge!" they heard Vincent order.
Aramis watched them silently for a moment, a sick idea drawing on her as the bridge came into play. Agnes' transport out of here was on the other side of that.
She drew the others aside, out of hearing of Agnes and told them of the plan.
d'Artagnan looked a bit pale after she finished. "Are you sure this is the best idea? What if something goes wrong?"
"There's always a chance that something might go wrong, d'Artagnan." Athos said. "Nothing in this world is predictable. Nothing." Memories of Anne flashed through her mind, and she shook the images away. She needed to focus. She turned to Aramis. "You're sure you want to go through with this?"
Aramis nodded, her expression tight as she glanced over at Agnes, oblivious as she cooed at Henry. "I am. I—"
"I could do it." Porthos said, giving her best friend at least some form of an out.
Aramis shook her head and looked back at her friend. "It's has to be me. It was my idea."
"Alright." Athos nodded.
And taking a deep breath, Aramis went back to Agnes. "I want you to head across the bridge and wait for me there."
Agnes looked confused. "But Vincent—"
"Leave Henry with me."
"Aramis?"
"If you walked out together, they'll be on you in seconds. He'll be searching for a woman and a baby."
Agnes shook her head. "You're a woman, Aramis."
She nodded. "But dressed like this, I'll be just like any other man." Aramis fixed the woman's cloak around her shoulders and grasped her shoulders. "I will get Henry across the bridge." She swore, looking the woman in the eyes. After a moment, Agnes nodded, and allowed the Spaniard to take her baby from her arms. She pressed a kiss to the infants forehead. "Go. Go." Aramis urged her, and pulling her hood over her head, the red-haired woman left her child and the safety of their hiding spot and walked towards the bridge where Vincent lay and wait.
Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan came to stand next to her, looking through the spaces in the stacked barrels, watching as Agnes made it across the bridge without much incident. Vincent snapped upon her, but seeing her with no child, left her to cross. The man didn't know what Agnes looked like, so that was a stroke in their favour. He had two men each stationed on either side of the bridge.
"So, how exactly should we do this?" d'Artagnan asked them, Aramis and Porthos glaring at Vincent along with him.
Athos eyed the corked keg in front of her and pulled the stopper. Amber liquid spilled from the hole and she stuck a cupped palm beneath the flow before re-corking it. The others looked at her, drawn by the noise as she slurped the liquid in her palm, sighing. "These barrels contain brandy." Athos remarked. "A rather good Aramagnac, I believe."
Aramis gave her a droll stare. "Athos, now is not the time." The other woman gave her a more-than pointed looked, and the Spaniard looked a but embarrassed as the other grinned in realisation as well. "Oh. I see."
"Am I allowed to say that this will be a bit o' fun, at least?" Porthos said as she and d'Artagnan hefted one of the smaller kegs onto their shoulders each.
"A waste, is what it is." Athos muttered to their retreating backs as the pair headed towards that grand bonfire that d'Artagnan had spotted earlier.
Athos looked to Aramis. "Ready?"
She took a deep breath and gazed down at the oblivious baby in her arms. She reacted instinctually for a moment and held Henry tighter to her chest, but forced herself to let go. If all went according to plan, Henry would be back in Agnes' arms and her love and strength for him would protect him from anything he might face in the world when he was older.
"Let's do this."
Athos gave a solemn nod and whistled the signal to Porthos and d'Artagnan.
"Now this fight—I'm ain't missin'!" Porthos grinned at the young man as she tossed her keg into the raging fire. Cherry embers flew into the air as it landed. He handed over his keg, and she lobbed that into the fire as well. The old man by the fire exclaimed and rushed from it as well. Others took up the cry and rushed away, d'Artagnan going to help along the stragglers. Porthos stayed her ground, and Vincent's attention was drawn by the commotion. He made eyes contact with the dark-skinned Musketeer and urge his horse towards the woman as he recognized her. Porthos grinned, her white-teeth flashing and she grasped the hilt of her sword—hoping that he made it to her before the kegs exploded. "Come on, you bastard!"
The boom made the horse reel, but he stayed his seat, and while his distraction was taken, she knew it was time to make her leave. The rest was up to Aramis now.
Agnes jumped at the explosion and fear hiked her heart into overdrive as the area on the other side of the bridge was choked with smoke. And then Aramis came racing from the cloud, her horse whinnying as it was pushed into a gallop, Henry in her arms. But her progress was halted as two of Vincent's men jumped out and barred her path.
It made not a sound, not a fuss, as she was forced to reign the horse in. Breathless, she wheeled around from the two men blocking her path, only to encounter two more, and Vincent seated upon his horse, trapping her.
"Hand over the child!" Vincent ordered.
"Or what?" Aramis challenged.
"I seize him by force." And his men converged on her like a mob. The horse stamped uncomfortably at the mob, and Aramis had nothing to defend herself with, her arms filled with the bundle and her hand on the reigns. And then they were yanking her from the saddle. She couldn't get her feet under her, and crashed onto the rail, loosing her cargo over side and into the raging river, nearly going over herself.
There was a beat of horror as the surrounding people processed what happened, and then Agnes was screaming. "No! Henry! No!" She ran onto the bridge, shoving the men aside, shrieking and sobbing for her son as she intended to leap the railing.
"No!" Aramis gave her own out and grabbed the woman.
"Henry!" Agnes strained against her, the knitted blanket being pulled farther and farther away. "I need to get him! He could still be alive!"
"No! No! Agnes!" Aramis finally managed to pull the woman from the rail. The woman hit at her as the Spaniard tried to pull her in. "He's gone. I'm so sorry..." and then she just went slack and sobbed into Aramis' chest as the woman held her. "What more do you want? Huh?" she demanded of Vincent as he lingered, watching. Finally, after a moment of glaring at him, Vincent departed, taking his men with him—no doubt to report to Marie.
Aramis tried to sooth her as best she could, but then Agnes pushed from her arms; her face flushed, tears running down her pale cheeks like a flood, the grief in her usually strong eyes was a physical thing. She turned away from the woman.
"Agnes..." I swore no harm would come to you, Aramis tried to will her own tears away, but I did this to you with every intention. She didn't have a right to cry. She knew of a pain that was worse than any of the worst physical torture that could be done to a person. This pain. What she had just caused Agnes to believe. It was a horrible, sick, and twisted thing. She just hoped that it the next hour, the woman could forgive her.
"Come," Aramis whispered, and urged the listless woman to mount the horse.
It was too soon. If Agnes could hold on just a little bit longer. Just until the Cardinal and Treville took care of Marie and Vincent. But every minute that passed, she could feel the chasm widen.
The Cardinal, when Treville brought him news of the infant's death, felt nothing but the sweet song of victory. And he made a entire play in making Marie think she had won, only to slap her with the truth. To watch her stumble away, after briefly showing her her lieutenant in chains, whimpering, was worth the fact that the death of the baby didn't ignite much in him but the base sympathy.
Aramis, Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan rode to the palace and met with Treville and the Cardinal. And it was agreed upon, that the scandal of Marie birthing Philippe in advance of Louis, was a fact that His Majesty, nor anyone else, need know.
The Cardinal stood in the dim space of his office in the palace church and took up the pages he had relieved of Duval's ledger, and watched in satisfaction as the flame ate them, burning from existence the only physical proof of twins born to Marie de Medici.
In that same moment, Duval sat upon a bench in a deserted hall of the same church and stood respectfully as a beautiful woman with dark hair, green eyes, painted red lips, and a deathly grace approached him. A soft groan left his lips as she sunk the blade between his ribs with a smile, and let him sink to the ground, dead. Behind her, two Red Guard entered, and dragged the body away.
"What more could you want from me?" Agnes asked, her tone lacking much strength as Aramis reined in her horse atop the hill in the field outside Paris, at the torch marker. "Why drag me here now?"
After their meeting with Treville and the Cardinal, the four of them had gone their separate way. Aramis back to the garrison, with a prayer that Agnes was still there, to pick her up. And d'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos rode back to the Bonacieux house to retrieve Constance and her little guest.
It had been too dangerous while Marie was yet still in Paris, or if any of the remainder of her men that escaped, tried to take up Vincent's mantel. But with the Cardinal's confirmation of Marie's leaving, it was time.
Aramis dismounted as well. "I know you have endured hell. I'm sorry you had to suffer such a terrible blow." Tears welled in Agnes' eyes afresh. "I don't deserve this pauldron for what I've allowed done to you."
She shook her head. "Aramis—"
"No." The Musketeer stopped her before the woman could do something so undeserving towards her as apologize. "I need to apologize. I should have told you the truth from the beginning. I'm sorry."
"What are you talking about?"
"I promised no harm would come to you. But what happened..." she shook her head desperately. "If you weren't a convincing grieving mother, Vincent never wouldn't have let either of us leave. It was the only way I could see you and Henry having any kind of life together."
"What life?" Agnes whispered, and any strength that might have briefly returned, vanished like smoke.
Aramis could hear the pounding of hooves approaching and mentally doffed her hat to her friends' excellent timing. "This life." She said, and directed her hat to the four approaching horses.
Agnes looked at them in confusion, but as they drew closer, and her gaze focused on Constance—or, more the wiggling thing held in her arms—her eyes widened. "Henry?" it was like she couldn't wrap her head around it. "Henry?"
The horses and their riders halted near Aramis horse, and the Spaniard approached Constance, gently retrieving the baby. She grinned as she walked back to Agnes, who cried out happily.
"Henry! Henry! Oh." She took him, holding him to her chest.
d'Artagnan glanced over at Constance, their horses so close together that their legs brushed, and saw the wistful look on her face as she watched Agnes reunite with Henry.
"You didn't want to give him back, did you?" he murmured.
She glanced at him. "Was it that obvious?"
He smiled at her and nudged her shoulder. "It'll happen—soon, I'm sure." And he was shocked as her cheeks blossomed rose. "What—?"
"Hush." She told him, embarrassed at the thoughts that his comment made flood her.
Agnes pressed kiss after kiss on her son's face.
"You didn't really think I'd take something so precious into battle, did you?" Aramis mumured.
She looked at him. "That was the point, though, wasn't it? But you kept him safe, just like you said you would. You delivered him to me as you promised." She looked fondly from her, to Henry. Any trace of grieve over her son, had vanished, and back was the woman that Aramis had come to know. Strong, brave, loving.
"Take this." Aramis tucked the full coin purse into the crook of her elbow. "Make a new life together—far from France." She fixed the woman's cloak around her shoulders in a caring fashion. "Philippe wouldn't want you be alone forever, Agnes." She whispered.
"I have my son." She smiled at Aramis. "I wish you could some with us," she said and Aramis was saved from saying anything as the woman looked over her shoulder at the two Musketeers, woman, and young man, waiting, "But you already have a family." She leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "The shoulder guard's fine where it is." Her voice was watery. "Thank you, Aramis." And she turned and started to walk, away from them and Paris and to find her knew home.
Aramis didn't move and watched her for a long while until the fog swallowed up her slim figure. She turned back and mounted her horse.
"I think you're losing your touch." d'Artagnan remarked lightly as the woman wheel her horse around to face the others.
"Just for that, Charlie, you're buying the first round." Aramis said, and spurred her horse.
"The first," he agreed as they rode after her. "I'm not made of money, you know?"
"And you think I am?" she chuckled. "Sorry, fresh out!"
"I knew I wasn't the cheapest one 'ere!" Porthos grinned.
"No. You are. You just cheat and steal people's money."
"Hey!—it's still good money. Better us usin' it, than 'em. They'd prob'ly waste it."
d'Artagnan scoffed. "You mean on things other than booze and bets?"
Porthos made a face at him, but chuckled. "Still..."
"I still say we go back for a keg of brandy." Athos replied evenly. "It was really rather good."
Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan roared with laughter it this deadpan reply, and Constance watched them with silent amusement and fondness. If it hadn't been for d'Artagnan, she never would have known the half of it. She gazed after the Gascon. Why? Why did she have to feel this way?
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
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