Chapter 12

After a brief stop to clean himself up a bit—walking the streets of Paris while covered in blood would have attracted too much attention—Siroc caught sight of D'Artagnan just as he was coming out of the dress shop. The lovely Giselle was right behind him, and he turned and placed a deep, seemingly passionate kiss on her lips. Obviously, he was already over Jacqueline. In fact, it would appear that he'd practically vaulted over her and into the arms of the nearest interested female. Seething at the boy's callousness, Siroc strode over to the pair and loudly cleared his throat, causing them to leap apart.

D'Artagnan glared. "Do you mind?"

"Not particularly. Then again, it's not me you should be worried about." Shooting the Gascon a glare of his own, Siroc turned towards the young lady he was with. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle…Giselle, is it?"

She nodded. "And you're Siroc, right? The inventor?"

"That'd be me."

"You were the one who built that…whatever it was…that goes underwater?"

"The sub-aquatic chamber…one of my more successful inventions. So…I'm guessing that some sort of congratulations is in order, here?"

"Oui. D'Artagnan just asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course."

"Of course," the immortal muttered, with just a hint of sarcasm. "Well…I apologize for cutting your celebration short, Mademoiselle, but I really need to have a word with your fiancée."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I have nothing further to say to you, Siroc."

"That's too bad, because I have plenty to say to you." Not giving his former comrade a chance to protest, Siroc grabbed his arm and dragged him none-too-gently over to the nearest church, which happened to be St. Julien le Pauvre. He knew that holy ground didn't offer protection from mortals, but he still felt safer having this type of conversation there rather than out in the middle of the street. Not to mention the fact that an old friend just happened to call that particular church home.

On reaching his destination, Siroc pulled his godson over to the nearest pew and made him sit. D'Artagnan tried to stand up, but the immortal quickly pushed him back down.

"What the hell are you doing? This…this is kidnapping! I could have you arrested!"

Siroc rolled his eyes. "I'm not kidnapping you, D'Artagnan. This is what I like to call an intervention. So you're going to sit right there and listen to what I have to say, whether you like it or not."

D'Artagnan crossed his arms, glowering. "Why should I? You stopped being my godfather a long time ago…Aramis."

He sighed, dropping down into the pew next to the angry young mortal. "What do you want me to say, Charles?"

"Admitting how cruel and selfish you are would be a nice start."

The immortal shook his head. "Alright…maybe it was wrong of me to just up and leave the way I did. Perhaps I should've taken you aside first…explained things a bit better. But it wasn't exactly easy for me either. You have to understand…I didn't exactly have much choice. People were starting to notice the fact that I wasn't getting any older, and make-up can only go so far to fake it. If I'd stayed any longer, I would have been putting all of you in danger. After all, in this day and age, someone like me could easily be mistaken for a sorcerer. And if I were guilty of practicing the 'black arts,' the rest of you would've been as well, merely by virtue of association. So I figured that all of you would be better off if I left."

D'Artagnan snorted. "Better off? Is that what you think? You were the one holding everything together."

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" He turned his head, looking Siroc in the eyes for the first time since the sanctum. And what the immortal saw in those eyes was pain…pain that he'd caused. "About a year after you abandoned us, Uncle Athos was killed in a duel with one of the cardinal's guards…a duel I'm certain YOU could've talked him out of had you actually bothered to stick around. He always listened to you…"

As D'Artagnan's words registered, Siroc let out a heavy breath, dropping his head into his hands. He'd known that his old comrades would one day leave this world—they were mortal, after all—but he never expected it to happen so soon, nor that his absence might very well have been the cause. Losing the elder D'Artagnan that morning had been bad enough, but to find out that Athos had been dead for well over a decade…. He could feel tears forming, and quickly wiped them away.

"So Athos is gone, then?" The Gascon nodded. "And Porthos?"

He shrugged. "No idea. He was never the same after Uncle Athos died. One day, he set sail in that ship of his and no one's seen or heard from him since."

"And I suppose you're going to blame me for that as well."

"Why shouldn't I?" D'Artagnan snapped, jumping to his feet. "You were the one who took off, Uncle. Did you ever stop to think that there were people here who actually needed you? Or have you been immortal so long that you've forgotten what it feels like to be human?"

"I am human," Siroc said quietly. "Just with a longer lifeline."

"Then why don't you try acting like it?" Shaking his head, the Gascon turned and headed for the door. Siroc leapt after him, latching onto his arm. "Let go of me."

"Not until you listen to what I have to say."

"I've been listening to you, old man, and have yet to hear anything worthwhile." D'Artagnan snatched his arm from Siroc's grasp and continued towards the exit, only to run into a man dressed as a monk.

"Problems?" he asked, glancing past the Legend's son to where Siroc stood.

"No problems here, Father," Siroc replied. Gently pushing D'Artagnan aside, he went over and gave the priest a warm, brotherly hug. "You heard what happened?"

He nodded. "Such a pity, too. Charles was a good man." D'Artagnan snorted, and both men looked his way. "His son?"

"Yes," Siroc answered, as D'Artagnan was too busy glaring. "Father Darius, meet Charles de Batz-Castlemore II, Comte D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan, this is Father Darius, an old friend of mine." Rolling his eyes, D'Artagnan gestured rather rudely to them both before turning and heading for the exit leading out to the churchyard. Siroc sighed, giving Darius an apologetic look. "You'll have to excuse him…this hasn't exactly been a good day."

"I can imagine. Does he know about…?"

"Yeah. Another musketeer was pulled into the Game just the other day—one of our friends, in fact—and he hasn't been taking it that well. His already short fuse has been steadily getting shorter, and about an hour ago, he actually lashed out and hit her."

Darius' eyebrow shot up. "Her?"

"Long story."

"My favorite kind. You can tell me all about it as we walk," he said, gesturing in the direction D'Artagnan had stormed off. Siroc nodded, and the two of them headed after the young mortal. He gave Darius a rather condensed version of Jacqueline's story, from her arrival as 'Jacques LePonte' to the events of that morning, focusing mostly on the major events that had taken place in that time and leaving out all the unimportant minor details—including the feelings that he had developed for the bold young woman who'd thrust her way into their lives all those months ago. Darius gave him an odd look, like he knew the younger immortal was leaving something out, but wisely decided not to press the matter.

On reaching the churchyard, the immortals found D'Artagnan kneeling next to a grave—his mother's. Glancing around, Siroc saw that Athos had been laid to rest just a short distance away. With a sad smile, Darius laid a comforting hand on the younger immortal's shoulder. "Go on," he whispered. Nodding, Siroc did just that, pausing briefly in front of Athos' grave before approaching his godson.

"Can't you people take a hint?" the Gascon growled, not even looking up.

Siroc sighed, kneeling down next to him. "I know you're angry, but please…just humor me for a few minutes."

D'Artagnan stood up, crossing his arms as he glared at the immortal. "Fine. I'm listening." Rising to his own feet, Siroc gently steered him over to a nearby bench and sat him down.

"If you don't mind, D'Artagnan, I'd like to tell you a little story about a young musketeer recruit I once knew by the name of Charles de Batz."

"My father, you mean…Charles de Batz-Castlemore."

Siroc nodded. "That's right, but when I first met him, it was just 'de Batz.' He didn't add 'Castlemore'—which was actually your grandmother's maiden name—to his surname until after Louis XIII made him Comte D'Artagnan." He sighed. "How much do you know about your grandfather?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Not much. It wasn't a subject Father liked to talk about. I've heard that he was a minor noble of sorts—a title, some land, but not particularly wealthy."

"Well, they had the 'not wealthy' part right, but everything else is pure fiction. In truth, your grandfather was a poor pig farmer. He was also a violent drunk who beat the hell out of his wife and child whenever he became inebriated…and sometimes even when he was sober. I admit, I only met the man once, but it was all the time I needed to assess his character. Your father, when I first met him, was naught but a scared kid…barely even knew which way to hold a sword, if you can believe it. Technically, he was a grown man, but living under that man's iron rule didn't give him much chance to really grow up. And having been in a similar situation myself back when I was still mortal, I felt for him as a kindred spirit of sorts. I took the lad under my wing…helped mold him into the 'legendary' figure France has come to see him as. You've heard the story of how he came to be a musketeer, I assume…the 'three duels' and whatnot." D'Artagnan nodded. "The part about him bumbling his way into those duels is true, but the rest of the story was made up to make him look good…build the legend. Truth is, his father never knew Captain Treville, and Charles didn't join the musketeers because he was looking for adventure. He joined because he couldn't deal with things at home anymore and needed to be someplace where he'd feel safe. As for the duels…well, he was lucky that Richelieu's men showed up when they did, otherwise there might not have been a legend to speak of. Like I said before, back then he didn't even know how to hold a sword properly, let alone use it."

"Fascinating as all this is," D'Artagnan interrupted, "what's your point? What does this have to do with me?"

"Would you be patient? I'm getting there."

"Fine," he huffed, looking like a petulant child.

"Anyway…several years later, not long after you were born, your father began to manifest the same sorts of violent tendencies as your grandfather. Luckily, I caught on before it became too serious and brought him here…to Darius. He may be a priest, but believe me when I say he has a lot of experience when it comes to dealing with this sort of thing. Unfortunately, Charles wasn't exactly known for his patience. He didn't want to become his father, by any means, but at the same time he felt that Darius' way of helping wasn't fast enough. So he decided that the best way to keep from following in his father's footsteps was to simply not be around you or your mother. That's why he spent so much time away…he was just trying to protect you."

"The same way you tried to protect me…by abandoning me?"

Siroc nodded. "Alright…I guess I had that coming."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Think about it, D'Artagnan. You've always been a bit of a hothead, but over the past couple of days it's gotten worse. I don't know if it was my revealing the truth that triggered it, or if it was just extremely coincidental timing, but you've been pretty hostile towards me ever since finding out that Jacqueline and I are immortal. Ramon told me about how you nearly took his head off when he stopped you from charging in after Bernard and his men, not to mention you snapping at him and trying to beat up the wall of the common room. When we were interrogating the duc, frankly, I think you enjoyed it a little too much. And then there was this morning. You killed a man in cold blood—"

"He killed my father!"

"—and then you lashed out and hit Jacqueline. And for what? Because she can't have your child? Or did you do something stupid like ask her to be your mistress and her answer wasn't to your liking?"

D'Artagnan glared, shooting to his feet. "That's none of your damn business! This conversation is over!" He tried to walk away, but Siroc was faster.

"No, it isn't. You're lucky that Jacqueline is immortal. If she wasn't, she could've been seriously hurt. As it is, you've done quite a bit of damage to her feelings. She was ready to give up everything to be with you, and you shot her down just because she can't give you an heir. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? I mean, Jacqueline loves you…or at least she did before you turned into an ogre. Shouldn't that have been enough?"

The Gascon stared at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze. "You…you're right. I'm an idiot. But what do you want me to do? It's a bit late to take that back…especially since I already proposed to Giselle."

"What should you do? You should apologize, and then spend some time with Father Darius…work through this before you end up hurting Giselle as well."

"Giselle…so you don't think I should try and make things work with Jacqueline?"

Siroc shook his head. "Honestly…no, I don't. Jacqueline deserves someone who'll love her for who she is…all of who she is. Someone who won't spend half of their married lives resenting the fact that she's going to remain exactly as she is for eternity… that she can't have children of her own…that there's always going to be some part of her life that he'll never be able to fully understand. And it's become quite clear that you're not that person. Don't get me wrong…for all your faults, you are a good man. But not everyone's cut out to be that closely involved with immortals. I can't tell you what to do, D'Artagnan. After all, it is your life. Personally, I think you're far better suited for someone like Giselle, but it's ultimately your decision. I just hope you make the right one." He placed a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder, looking the younger man right in the eyes. "Take some time to think it over. In the meantime, I'm going to talk to Father Darius…see if I can arrange for Charles to be brought here for burial. I'm sure that's what he would've wanted."

D'Artagnan nodded. "That's why Mama asked to be laid here. She didn't want him to have to choose between her and his comrades."

"Your mother was a smart woman. I'll go see to the arrangements." Giving his godson's shoulder an affectionate pat, Siroc then headed over to where Darius was waiting, leaving D'Artagnan alone with his thoughts.