A/N: Takes place after the events of season 2.
"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." – Orson Welles
Athos scowled as d'Artagnan failed to block his thrust; it was the third time in as many minutes and spoke of the Gascon's distraction. Now that they were at war, it was even more critical that each man be in top form, and the young man's apparent ineptitude was becoming more than the new Captain could stand. "Focus," he barked, ignoring d'Artagnan's returning look of anger as he attacked again, his protégé barely managing to block the blade aimed at his side. Athos had little enough time as it was these days, the demands of his position nearly overwhelming him, and it was only his love for his brother, and his promise to the young man's new wife, that had him sparing precious time out of his day to train with the boy.
As Athos' sword once more slipped under d'Artagnan's guard, the latter growled in frustration, swiping at the air with his blade as he turned his back on his mentor, unable to face the older man's disapproval. Pulling a glove free, he threw it angrily to the ground, running the bare hand through his hair and tugging at the long locks as he tried to compose himself. Even though Athos remained silent, he could hear his mentor's words, advising him to use his head over his heart. It had been a difficult lesson for the Gascon to learn, but he'd eventually succeeded, reason winning out over passion, making him pause and think rather than running into things headfirst. As of late, the hard-earned lesson seemed to be slipping away again, his previous temper flaring more and more frequently and making rational thought difficult.
He knew that his friends had noticed and that his skills had suffered as a result, but no matter how hard he tried, his emotions seemed to be constantly roiling just beneath the surface, and it took almost nothing at all to release them on the closest hapless victim. Firmly shutting his eyes, he willed himself to breathe slowly, forcibly relaxing the tense muscles along his shoulders and neck which made his head throb in turn.
Athos could see the struggle that his protégé was undergoing and as much as he'd like nothing more than to ream the boy out, he held himself back. Strong words spoken in anger would only provoke more of the same, and his goal was to unearth the source of d'Artagnan's conflict rather than add to it with his own censure. Taking a deep, cleansing breath to push away the last of his own irritation, the older man stepped forward and placed a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, the young man stiffening at the contact but allowing it. "What troubles you so?" Athos asked, pitching his voice lowly so that no one else in the practice yard could hear.
With his back still to his mentor, the Gascon gave a quick shake of his head as he replied, "Nothing."
Willing himself to stay calm, Athos countered, "Your sword work today would suggest otherwise."
Unseen by the older man, d'Artagnan closed his eyes tightly against the hot tears of frustration that threatened, forcing himself to speak evenly as he said, "Apologies; it won't happen again."
Athos' brow furrowed at the comment, the young man obviously missing the point. "It is not to me that you owe an apology, but to that lovely wife of yours if you get yourself hurt or killed."
d'Artagnan physically flinched, pulling his shoulder away from Athos' touch as the older man's frown deepened. "Seems like I can't stop disappointing her these days," the young man murmured to himself.
"What did you say?" Athos queried, but the Gascon took a step away before turning to face his commanding officer.
"I said I'm tired and perhaps we could practice later," d'Artagnan replied, his intention to leave clear in his posture, regardless of Athos' approval. Deciding to allow it, the Captain gave a slight dip of his head in acknowledgement and watched as his protégé spun on his heel, striding quickly from the courtyard and into the busy Parisian streets.
Moments later he felt the presence of others at his side and his lips quirked slightly at their arrival, hiding his expression by bending down to retrieve d'Artagnan's discarded glove.
"Still being testy, is he?" Aramis commented rhetorically, and Athos was certain that they'd seen everything that had just transpired.
"Like a horse with a burr under his saddle lately," Porthos remarked, his expression sombre at watching their youngest brother's ongoing struggles.
"I had quite thought that our young Gascon who be far happier after securing the hand of the fair Constance," Aramis mused, his face mirroring the larger man's.
Athos gave him a sideways look as he remarked, "Not every marriage has a happy ending."
Aramis cringed slightly as he recalled the older man's experience with Milady, but it was Porthos who interjected, "Yeah, but those two were made for each other. Only couple I know who've always been better together than apart."
Neither man could argue with Porthos' assertion and Aramis nodded in agreement as he stroked his beard and said, "He's keeping something from us." Athos' eyes flicked towards him and his stomach momentarily fell as he found himself agreeing and feeling a pang of hurt that the young man had chosen not to share whatever was troubling him so deeply.
d'Artagnan walked aimlessly, unseeingly passing along street after street until the energy of his anger had been released, leaving him spent and weary and wanting someplace to sit. Looking around, he was astonished to find himself at the palace walls, his feet having followed the familiar path of their own accord, bringing him closer to the woman he loved. Constance; the name floated through his mind bringing with it a sense of warmth and comfort like no other. His marriage had brought with it a contentment that he'd never before experienced, his wife tempering his boundless energy, somehow harnessing and channelling it into something positive. He no longer felt rudderless and abandoned, both emotions having been his steadfast companions after the death of his father. Instead, his sense of belonging had deepened, having not only brothers but a wife with whom to build a new life.
As such, he felt a profound responsibility to be a good husband, needing to protect both Constance's body and her future to the best of his ability. In the beginning, it had been easy, the two of them choosing to keep their assigned quarters, Constance at the palace and d'Artagnan at the garrison, since their duties often had them keeping odd hours and it was impossible to predict when either of them would be at home. When their schedules allowed, they came together in the Gascon's room, Athos having assigned him a larger space upon his marriage, having perceptively understood how the two were likely to arrange their lives, at least in the short term. Constance had moved everything of consequence there, selling off the rest of her belongings and happily putting her ill-fated marriage to Bonacieux behind her.
For a time, it had worked well, and each of them revelled in the joy of being with the other but, like most things, the excitement soon faded and they fell into a pattern of living through the mundane, where everyday concerns tarnished the shine of their renewed love. He'd responded by trying harder to recapture the magic of their first months together, whispering words of sweetness and showering her with tender kisses, but nothing seemed to be able to evoke what they'd seemingly lost. Elation was quickly replaced by bitterness and resentment, with each of their interactions redoubling the hurt they both felt. He knew that Constance felt the pain just as keenly as he did and, yet, neither of them seemed capable of stopping it. As a result, their previously happy expressions had turned sombre and he wanted nothing more than to turn back the hands of time so they might revisit their earlier days.
Logically, he knew that neither one of them was at fault, but he felt so powerless, fate seeming to remove all control from his hands. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, there was simply no way for him to fix things. The realization was torturous and he felt a deep shame at the knowledge, unable to share his difficulties with even his closest friends since he could not bear to see the disappointment shining in their eyes. Instead, he went through the motions of living, maintaining the illusion that everything was fine as his life slowly crumbled around him.
The desolation he felt in that moment had him choking on a sob and he rested his forehead against the stone wall in front of him, hiding his face from the world lest someone witness his moment of weakness. After several minutes, he managed to compose himself and he pushed away from the wall, turning to retrace his path to the garrison. He threw a last longing look at the magnificent building that held his wife, yearning to catch a glimpse of her radiant smile but forcing himself to walk away instead.
As he walked, he began to mentally brace himself to face his friends, who he knew would likely be waiting for him. He understood that they were worried but he wished to simply be left alone, their compassionate looks and kind words only deepening his discomfort as he continuously put them off. His only consolation was that he knew that Constance felt the same way and he was certain that she would no more reveal their secret to the others than he would.
Crossing through the garrison gates, his heart fell as his worries were confirmed; sitting at their usual table, waiting for him, were Aramis and Porthos. They wore smiles on their faces at seeing him enter, but he could tell that their happy expressions were a thin veil, obscuring the concern they were feeling for him. Steeling himself, he affixed a small grin to his face as well, reminding himself that although he dreaded their continued attempts to help, he was genuinely glad to see them. As he arrived, Porthos stood and placed a warm hand on his back, guiding him down to sit before retaking his own seat. He could tell that both men wanted to speak but were uncertain about how to start.
Porthos flashed an uneasy look at the marksman, hoping the silver-tongued man would know what to say, and d'Artagnan waited quietly, part of him wondering what the man would come up with. "d'Artagnan," the Gascon cringed at the sympathy that resonated as Aramis began to speak, "we're worried. There's obviously something bothering you and we want to help."
The young man had to push down the surge of irritation that swelled at his friend's statement, reminding himself that the two men sincerely wanted to help even though he just wanted them to let things drop. With a calmness he didn't feel, he replied, "It's nothing, Aramis." He dredged up another smile to lend credence to his words, but could tell by the expressions on his friends' faces that he'd been less than convincing.
"Lad, there's nothing you can't tell us," Porthos leaned closer, his hand reappearing on d'Artagnan's shoulder. A look of sadness momentarily darkened the Gascon's face until his mask of composure reasserted itself. There was a time when he would have shared anything with these men, but now…it was impossible.
He gave his head a shake, his expression morphing as he pleaded with the two, "I can't." The words were spoken softly but it was clear by the matching looks of disappointment on the men's faces that they'd heard. Swallowing thickly, d'Artagnan willed the voice in his head to silence as it chastised him for upsetting his friends.
Whatever might have come next was interrupted by Athos' voice from above, the new Captain having taken up the tradition of calling his men up from the balcony. He caught Aramis' eye, the marksman giving a small shake of his head to indicate their failure in discovering d'Artagnan's secret, before motioning them upstairs with one hand. The three ascended the stairs, the Gascon trailing after his friends as they presented themselves to their commanding officer. Athos was all business, pushing his personal feeling aside as he related their assignment. Minutes later, they were retracing their steps and heading for the stables.
Their mission was a simple one and, despite Athos' assertion that he needed the three of them in case they ran into trouble – they were at war, after all – each of them knew that no more than two men were required. As was often the case though, it was easier to comply than to argue, so the three efficiently tacked their horses and set out, the missive they carried tucked safely into Aramis' boot. The journey was not overly difficult or uncomfortable, Aramis and Porthos carrying the majority of the conversation and kindly refraining from prying into the Gascon's situation.
Trouble found them on their return trip, only a half-hour from Paris, with d'Artagnan's distraction being the culprit again as he was thrown gracelessly from his mount when it startled and reared up. His mind had been a million miles away, once more examining things between himself and Constance, when the animal's quick movement had him falling backwards and landing painfully, his head striking a half-buried rock in the ground.
Despite the men's best efforts, they'd been unable to rouse him and new worry surged forth for their youngest as Aramis applied a temporary bandage to protect the split skin at the back of d'Artagnan's skull. Adding to their stress was the anticipation of Athos' reaction when they arrived back at the garrison with an insensate Gascon held upright in Porthos' arms.
They made good time, even with the still unconscious Musketeer and, as they'd expected, Athos came out to greet them as soon as he heard the sound of their horses. Unfortunately, his reaction was also as expected and Porthos tightened his grip momentarily on the young man in his arms as he saw the telltale clenching of the Captain's jaw. To his credit, Athos didn't immediately come running down to see what had happened, taking his cue from Aramis who moved quickly, but not in a panic, to remove d'Artagnan from his friend's arms before waiting for Porthos to join him so the two could take the Gascon to his room. The Captain continued to watch as the men hauled the young man up the stairs, releasing a small sigh of relief when they headed right towards d'Artagnan's quarters, rather than left towards the infirmary, suggesting that Aramis could deal with whatever had transpired.
Having that bit of information to soothe his fears, Athos returned to his office for a few minutes to tidy his desk before locking everything of import away. A quick glance over the courtyard showed everything in order and the older man kept his pace unhurried as he travelled the distance to the young man's room. He didn't bother knocking, knowing that Porthos and Aramis would be busy caring for the Gascon, and he slipped quietly inside to see Aramis wiping his hands while Porthos pulled a blanket up to d'Artagnan's shoulders.
"What happened?" he asked as he crossed the room to the young man's bed, his eyes roaming over the still figure for any clue about what ailed him.
Porthos seemed angered by the question so Aramis replied, steering the larger man away from the bed so he could calm down. "His horse reared and he was thrown; it was only poor luck that his head found a rock on which to land." At the slightly panicked expression on Athos' face, the medic rushed to reassure him, "He should be fine. I closed a gash on the back of his head and there's no soft spots to worry about. We just need to give him some time to wake."
Porthos had been pacing by the window and now made his way back as he grumbled, "It was a bloody stupid thing to happen."
Athos looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "You think this could have been prevented?"
"Of course," the large man stated confidently. "We've been watching the boy fall apart for weeks and today was no different. If he'd had his wits about him, there's no way he would've left the saddle." He pinned both men with a severe look as he declared, "We need him to get his head straight before he gets 'imself killed."
And there it was – the crux of the problem rearing its ugly head once more. There was something going on that the young man refused to share and, yet, they would need to convince him to speak of it for his own good. Athos gave a tired sigh as he scrubbed a hand across his face, selecting a chair in which to sit while they waited for d'Artagnan to awake.
The room was lit by candles by the time he opened his eyes and d'Artagnan was inwardly grateful that the full light of the day had passed, the pain in his head spiking even with the small amount of illumination that surrounded him. As his vision cleared, his noted the presence of his friends, all of them wearing expressions that spoke of varying degrees of worry and he could only guess that he was the cause. "Wha'?" he tried, his dry throat closing, and Porthos patiently helped him sit up and have a drink of water. When the liquid had soothed his throat, he spoke again, "What happened?"
"You were thrown from your horse and hit your head," Aramis replied, giving each of the others a warning look to allow him to confirm the Gascon's health before they said anything else. "How are you feeling?"
d'Artagnan closed his eyes for a moment as he considered the question, deciding that he was alright except for the throbbing in his head. "I'm fine," he replied. Porthos rolled his eyes but no one contradicted the young man, Aramis having already satisfied himself that the boy's pupils reacted well to light, suggesting that the Gascon had managed to avoid a concussion.
Deciding to take his protégé at his word, Athos stated the concern they'd all been waiting to voice, "You may be fine physically but your mind is troubled." He raised a hand as d'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak, "You have been denying it for too long and now our fears that you would get hurt as a result have come to pass. d'Artagnan," Athos softened his tone, "please, tell us what has occupied your mind for so many weeks."
"I…" the Gascon hesitated, wondering if he could truly unburden himself. When his mouth fell closed, Athos couldn't hide his disappointment, slumping a little in his chair. Seeing his mentor's reaction, d'Artagnan tried to appeal to them. "Look, you've all had your secrets and no one's forced you to share them. Athos, you only told me about Milady after she tried to kill you and I stumbled upon the event quite by accident." Turning his attention to Aramis, he went on, "Athos' oversight in sharing his past pales by comparison to your secret, and you both," he included his mentor in his gaze, "kept it from us for months."
As d'Artagnan's face turned toward Porthos, the larger man raised his hands in a placating gesture as he said, "Now hold on; I haven't kept anything from you."
"No, you haven't" the Gascon allowed, "but you know what it's like to have information hidden from you for your own good." At Porthos' look of confusion, the young man continued, "For months you pleaded with Treville to share what he knew of your father and, when it was finally revealed, your so-called family tried to kill you." Dropping his gaze and his voice, he said, "What good can come of speaking of such things."
"Now, d'Artagnan, that's not strictly true; not everything turned out badly," Aramis countered, only to be interrupted by the Gascon's snort of derision.
"You and the Queen nearly lost your heads and we weren't far behind," d'Artagnan argued hotly, shifting his focus to Athos next. "Your secret got me shot and Constance was almost killed by Milady's machinations. And, Porthos, it was through sheer luck that we found out the truth of your family's affairs and arrived in time to prevent your death." Huffing, he asked, "How can you possibly claim that anything positive resulted from these secrets coming to light?"
The room fell quiet as each man worked through his own thoughts, d'Artagnan looking unnaturally pale in the flickering light as he picked at the blanket that covered him. Finally, the Gascon broke the silence as he murmured, "Look, I'm fine; there's no need for you to stay."
Aramis and Porthos looked resigned to leaving, but Athos' words stilled their movements and had them settling back down in their chairs. "On the contrary, there seems to be a very good reason for us to stay." The two men looked at him in surprise, listening expectantly for what he would say. "You state that there was nothing positive from having this information come to light and yet you have missed several important facts." He paused a moment to confirm that he had his protégé's attention before continuing. "You see, Aramis and I had to keep his affair quiet in order to ensure everyone's safety, yet once you and Porthos became aware of what had happened, we managed to unite to defeat Rochefort and secure the Queen's future as well as our own." He glanced briefly at Aramis to see how the man felt about his statement, and saw the discreet dip of the marksman's chin, indicating his agreement.
"I daresay that the lack of family ties has plagued Porthos for years and his need to learn his father's identity would have driven him mad in time," Athos went on. "While it was not the idyllic ending we would have hoped for him, I believe that it provided a well-needed release that allowed him to think of his future rather than ruminating on his past."
Porthos wore a fond smile as he listened to his friend's insightful words, "Athos is right. I needed to meet my father if only to be able to appreciate the family I have. I wasn't able to do that until Treville shared what he knew and the information set me free."
d'Artagnan was beginning to look uncertain, surprised at the direction their conversation had taken. Athos noticed the change and pushed ahead, determined not to waste the opportunity. "As for myself, I had not shared my past with Milady because I feared what my friends would think of me. I considered myself a failure, as both a husband and brother, and could not bear to see the disappointment in their eyes. I was wrong," he ended softly.
Aramis and Porthos both caught the older man's gaze, letting him know in no uncertain terms of the affection and respect they held for him. Athos' lips quirked in reply, the message gratefully received. In the meantime, the Gascon was considering his own thoughts which eerily mirrored his mentor's words, "I could not bear to see the disappointment in their eyes." He'd used the same excuse to keep the truth from these men and yet Athos had just admitted his mistake in doing so in the past.
Seeing the Gascon's indecision, each of the men moved closer, Athos placing a hand on the young man's arm as he assured, "There is nothing you could say that would make us care for you any less."
d'Artagnan's eyes slammed closed at the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, indescribably grateful for his friend's comforting touch. He breathed heavily for several long seconds before blinking away the moisture in his eyes and giving a shaky nod as he began to speak, "I love Constance so much it hurts sometimes." His gaze found Athos' and the older man gave a small nod of encouragement, understanding the depth of the emotions the Gascon was trying to express. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, and I promised to cherish her and keep her safe, yet I'm unable to protect her from heartache."
The three men exchanged glances at the strange comment, but remained quiet in case their interruption made the young man change his mind about sharing what was troubling him. "I've always wanted a family and Constance will be a wonderful mother," d'Artagnan said wistfully. "The life of a soldier is perilous but at least with my commission, she can be assured of some security and a child would mean that she'd never have to face a life alone if the unthinkable were to happen." He broke off and closed his eyes again, dropping his chin to his chest as he struggled to compose himself.
The men all wore puzzled expressions, having no idea what the Gascon was trying to tell them even though he seemed quite distraught by what he'd already said. They waited once more but it became apparent that d'Artagnan was finished speaking, despite the fact that his audience had no idea of the significance of what he'd shared. Athos was about prompt his protégé for more when a look of comprehension dawned on Aramis' face, "d'Artagnan, have you and Constance been trying for a child?"
The Gascon's head bobbed unsteadily on his neck, unwilling to lift it and face them. "Oh, d'Artagnan," Aramis breathed out, cupping the young man's cheek in one hand as he tilted the boy's face upwards. "There is no fault to place and no shame in this; it is merely God's will and we cannot know His plan until He reveals it to us."
Athos was stunned by the revelation that his youngest brother ached for a child, and he felt the long-forgotten pain of his own disappointment when his brief marriage had also failed to produce an heir. While he appreciated Aramis' perspective, he was of a more practical nature and, when d'Artagnan's expression remained sorrowful, he said, "d'Artagnan, it can be difficult when a couple desires a child and finds their prayers unanswered." The Gascon saw the brief flash of remorse in his mentor's eyes and realized that this man would have the greatest empathy for his plight. "I know how the stress of disappointment can cause tempers to flare, but you cannot give up hope or allow the love that brought the two of you together to wither."
Athos' words had been insightful and reflected d'Artagnan's struggles over the recent months. He and Constance wanted a child more than anything, the current war making their need stronger since the days ahead were uncertain. While they tried to be patient, their dispositions had grown increasingly uglier as each month brought the bitter sorrow of Constance's empty belly. It was at the point that they seemed to have no kind words left for each other, as each carried the heavy burden of guilt for not having produced a child.
Still, Athos was correct and they would be foolish to throw away the love that had brought them together in the first place. While it would be difficult to accept a future without children, d'Artagnan would happily endure such a fate as long as he could keep Constance at his side. The realization made the breath speed in his chest and his features smoothed as he finally saw a path out of the melancholy that had been plaguing the d'Artagnan household for so long. "I need to see Constance," he said, already making motions to rise from his bed.
Athos and Aramis both kept a hand on his shoulders as they prevented him from getting up, the latter man still concerned about the blow to head that d'Artagnan had suffered earlier. While the two men ensured the Gascon remained, Porthos rose, "Stay here, lad, I'll go find your lovely wife."
Before he could take more than a couple steps towards the door, it opened on its own, revealing Constance's worried face at finding the room full and the bed occupied. "d'Artagnan?" she asked hesitantly, pushing the door closed behind her.
"Not to worry, Constance, he's fine," Aramis stated hurriedly, wanting to ease the lines of worry from the woman's face.
"I was actually just about to come look for you," Porthos said, taking Constance's arm as he led her closer to the bed.
The perceptive woman took a look around the room, noting each man's expression in turn before settling on her husband's face, his countenance seeming lighter than it had in weeks. d'Artagnan caught his wife's inquiring gaze and tried to explain, "We were just talking….about things…." He trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Constance examined each of the men again, feeling the reassuring hold of Porthos' hand on her arm, seeing the compassion in Aramis' face and the empathy in Athos', and understanding dawned – her husband had shared their secret. As his wife cleared her throat, d'Artagnan braced himself for her anger but her features softened instead as she placed a hand on her belly, "Then it's a good thing you're all here to share in the news." Constance's face split into a wide smile that made d'Artagnan's heart jump, barely hearing the words of congratulations from his friends. His brothers had not forsaken him when he'd shared his shame, nor punished him for withholding it; these same men now shared in his joy and would be uncles to his children. No matter what else life threw at them, they would not be divided.
End.
A/N: Written for the Fête des Mousquetaires challenge for the prompt "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret". For information about how to participate, as a writer or to vote, please see the forum page on this site under Musketeers.
Thanks for reading!