Chapter 17: Notre Dame

A cacophony simmered over the streets in Paris. The boiling sun overcast behind the dark, thick shadows of two creaky aiships. Onlookers were nonetheless exasperated and horrified. For they both bore different colors. Was it the British? The Spanish? God forbid the blasted colonials!

Cannon fire emitted. Thunderous roars cycled around their heads. The lightning storm was minscule in comparison to the onboard shrieks and cutler clangings. The smaller of the two ships stealthed, with tradewinds on their side, next to the French. The ship matched board to board before the actual firing occured. Giving their altitude, albeit, higher than their opponent, didn't mean any bullets escaped them. On the port side, minnet balls ricocheted and attempted to backfire in the lower decks where black Chinese powder were filled in barrels.

Athos, now regaining his position at the wheel, maneuvered theship to be parallel with the shipmaster's weasely attempts to outrun. He jacked the wheel to the left hard and back to straight. He kept a watchful eye for an overly-exuberated Planchet as he aimed blasphemous fire towards the air sack of the ship.

"Plan's working so far," he called out to his band. Like clockwork, they moved in rotation in an efficent amount of time. Antoinette finally pushed Planchet out of his glee with the dragon fire in order to re-direct their target to some trickier ropes in the way. Athos admired the determination within Antoinette, if only for a moment. He distracted her, "I'll take it from here,"

She nodded curtly before joining Porthos and Aramis with safety lines strapped on their belts. As she fumbled around the loop the belt safely across her trousers and lower waistline, she kept nervously eyeing towards a fidgety Aramis. His tack line was secured and now awaited his fellow teammates to suit up and ready for the second phase in their three-step plan.

Antoinette's heart beat out of her chest as she recalled the details of her and Constance's brilliance. Her sweating palms loosened her grip but anxiously re-caught the line. She stopped for a moment to glance at the object at their eye level. The air-filled balloon was bulbous and looked ready enough to pop it. Her eyes glanced down to see the familiar design of French cobblestone and within fifty yards, the Notre Dame Church.

In her life, everything was coming full circle. From departure, to a fresh start, and to now- the potential threat of the biggest adventure she's face with them. Her nails left tiny half-moon crevices in her palms. The pain was white and slowly faded to the flushed red. The dawning of the architecture reknown for it's steeples and frame, was just underneath both ships.

Porthos had just made the final click of his belt to see his feminine friend in trouble. With the belt, of course. But something unnerved her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Aramis staring at her and not the dagger that flipped animously on his hand. He clapped his friend's shoulder.

"Make it quick, we're coming in on them," he advised Aramis who continued to stare at her. Porthos briefly smiled as he ducked underneath to help Constance reloading the guns.

Antoinette could feel Aramis stalk over. She still held her breath as she narrowed down to the streets once more. Though her eyes faced down, her body naturally turned to him. Calloused hands took over the line and belt from her hands and did up the proper loops for her. As his hands meticuously worked, Aramis desperately watched for some sort of recognition in her eyes.

"I trust you," he breathed near her ear, nearly tickled by the curled strands that escaped her braided hair. She leaned into his touch. One of her hands, smeared with black gun powder braced his forearm. Antoinette met his eyes. Closer and closer she could feel his warm breath envelope her. "Don't die," His whispers rolled off his lips. The last of the bucklings was made. His hands, now free and without purpose, suspended in the air.

She guided his hands to caress her back. Antoinette lifted herself to reach the crook between his neck and shoulder. The hands behind her hung limp, before embracing her protectively.

She said slowly into his ear, "Can't die, we're on church grounds... err... space?"

The rumble of laughter echoed in his chest. She kissed his scruffy cheek. He would need a shave soon, she could tell. As she still clung to him, he backed away to hold a side of her face. He rubbed the smooth curve of her cheek with his tanned thumb.

With his eyes a shade lighter than she had seen them before, he gazed deeply at her mouth and then to her eyes. "Netta," There was a pregnant pause and a low catch in his throat. His eyes wrinkled as she smiled. She kissed just at the corner of his lips sensitively. "I love you," He mad ehis words low and appealing in their private moment.

"And when we survive this, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, a piece of parchment or not," His eyes picked and chose his words with thoughful consideration. He made no notion to the smoky scene below them. "We can stop this. Travel the world, as you wish. I'll do anything, if you'll have me,"

Words couldn't fill up her elation. Instead of a small laugh or a rosy blush, she let out a tear. Aramis wiped away looking concerned at her. She smiled. The wind picked up from behind Aramis. Strands of hair wisped in the wind.

She kissed him shortly between her breaths. "My travels lie with you. I'm not afraid anymore. You and me... and any little ones we have," Aramis curled an arm around her waist. The small twitch in his moustache gave way a toothy smile. "I don't want to lose you when I have nothing to fear," she said holding the hand that touched her face fondly.

He allowed a small chuckle out as she continued to smile. Aramis invited another long kiss between them. Allowing any emotions bottled to rocket off. How badly did he want to run away with her and forget their troubles. They all could have waited as he reveled under God's glorious sun with a basking Antoinette. He held both of her hands in his. "Be my wife?"

Dynamite and rockets carefully thrown down below blew up to hit the sides of the enemy were heard. She held onto him from the surprise of the aftershock. The crescendo of crewmen barking orders to raise height and the fearful tones erupted as they nearly hit the side of the Church. Above all the noise and chaos surrounding them, Aramis delicately tuned them out for one single syllable.

"Yes,"

Their right hands intertwined as their foreheads brushed against each other.

"Ready?"

Porthos joined them as they separated. There was still a war, a battle to be won. Aramis faced his lifetime friend gleaming. Antoinette, however, couldn't keep dwon the illuminating smile spreading across her cheekbones. She tried to conceal her embarassment into his chest.

"Ready," Aramis confirmed.

All three of them stood in a line next to the lowered railings that were blasted off. Porthos checked the winds, Antoinette aimed at her target, and Aramis re-checked his handy work on both of their belts.

"After this, meet you later?" she smirked as he gave one final tug.

He lowered his eyes as he gazed alogn with her. "You sure?"

She whispered, "As I am," He could feel small goosebumps on his neck. "I'll be the one in a white dress,"

Porthos laughed. "Shall we?" he gestured. Simultaneously, they took a step and leapt in the distance between the ships. They dropped with knives to the inflatable balloon. The satisfying slice from her dagger was met with euphoria. Rushes of adrenaline coursed through as they slid down with two winds- one from the sky and the other from the deflating balloon- waved her braid up and down. She clung nerviously to the dagger- the pit and pendulum to an untimely doom.

She slipped down to lower deck, where the linings of the balloon were kept. Black and red dressed men in caps armed the cannons and guns stood. Porthos and Aramis unsheathed their weapons. Antoinette was the last to make foot with the deck. She spun around to avoid the blow of a man's fist. She clung to the posted rafters to hoist her gun and started to shoot men left and right. When she believed she had enough time, she went into action.

Her sword looked for a worthy opponent. She settled on some of the riffraff threatening her pathetically. At gun point, she felt cheated. At sword point, she felt thrilled. Moving with the ferocity of a forest tiger, she pitted all her momentum from the heels of her feet to the swift cut against the jugular. Hit after hit she twirled and elbowed through the line of men.

Her eyes narrowed as one tried to strangle her behind. She chocked from the leather skinned gloves. She dropped her sword and pushed against the burly man. He knocked over his own feet and met a crushing, sinking feeling in his back as it hit the wooden posts. Once she felt the slum, she twisted his wrist and elbowed him at his strenum. The unconscious man fell to the floor with bruises and at the most a few cracked ribs.

A few scraps of diluted blood mysteriously coiled on her arm. Disgusted she wiped them off with a patch of the unconscious man's clothing. She located her sword ten feet away. She leaned down to pick it up by the blade. A single booted foot stomped on the piece of blade besides her hand. Her hand angrily cut as she tired to remove the blade.

Up, her eyes gazed with hatred towards the figure. The mere sight of the blond headed fiend gave her no pleasure but to imagine wiping his smug grin off the face of the earth. Jussac chortled.

"I've always known you would be put back in your place," his cold voice scratched her ears.

She huffed. Without so much as a predatory smirk, she rolled over to kick his shin. Jussac cursed under his breath. The moment his foot lifted, she grabbed the sword just in time. Antoinette managed to kneel when Jussac grabbed her by her braid and dragged. She stuttered a yell as she aimlessly hit the sword against his leg.

Once back on her feet, she backed up with both hands on the handle. Jussac threw down his hat and cape to face her in combat. His posture leaned back, daring for her to edge forth.

With a thrust and reparte, she clashed swords with him. He attempted to throw her off. Even with her feminine wills, she had managed to match him in some strength. Though his arms could crush within in instant, his legs proved viable to any hits. And so, Antoinette tripped him.

He growled lowly as they continued their sword dance. She kept an eye on his brute arms. She grabbed a secretly hidden dagger from her leg to attack his side. He hollowed in pain as he pulled it out. A feral side of Jussac awakened him. Antoinette's eyes showed fear in her eyes as he spat at her feet. Blood gurgle from the prick at his side.

Her foot pivoted to escape but a claw wrapped around her forearm. She winced as he stabbed her own dagger inches away from her shoulder blade.

"You! - You're just a woman!" he growled.

Her sword dropped. Jussac continued to tease the dagger across her fair skin. His left hand choked her neck. She clawed at his hands to restrain but to no avail. Beads of blood seamed out on her forehead. Trails of them fell to her cheek as the glint of madness took over him.

"Any last words?" His rough words barely were heard.

She choked out a cough and coughed up a little blood. It dribbled onto his gloved hand with disgust. Her hands relinquished in defeat. She looked desperately for help. But they were the only ones around. Aramis was concentrated with a bomber and Porthos improvised with ropes. She tried to call to Aramis pitifully.

Jussac chortled once more. He turned his head to whistle for the rugged Musketeer. Aramis' whole body turned in horror. To the side of Jussac, pinned against the posts was an extremely pale and suffering Netta. He ended his opponent swiftly but Jussac all his commanding men to attack him.

He looked expectantly to her. She spat blood at him and nervously kicked him. He muttered incoherent things as her vision begin to spot with black ink.

With little wind left in her, she mumbled, "I think you forget whose daughter I am,"

Porthos aided a roped down Aramis. Men began to swarm around the pair. Aramis' blood boiled as he watched Antoinette battle her way through. When all hope was lost, Aramis bowed his head. His enemies did not deserve to see his tears. To see the life of her being choked out. as his forehead rubbed against the stiff wooden boards-

Silence. Of the worst kind.

The floor shook rapidly. A carvnivorous roar unleashed the horrors underneath. Boards broke like splinters as the needle point of the cathedral broke through and expanded. Men were thrown off guard and Aramis shielded himself as the unexpected spirals of the tower thrust itself and spewed choas out like bad breath.

Antoinette closed her eyes waiting for it all to end. The hold against her throat restrained at last. Poundings on her lungs opened u for air but was acquantinced with smoke and debris. Her back fell unceremoniously to the floor. The groanings of the ship were outmatched by the beat of her eardrums. She slouched and gripped the floor as piles of miscellaneous objects were dumped as the ship settled once more.

Aramis looked again when the collision ended. Men were either dead from impact or knocked unconscious feet away from the epicenter. He dusted himself off and scanned the area. He began to rummage through the disaster zone for that mesy braid of hers. A sight of her no doubt marred face. Or even the wift of her lilac perfume she wore. Frustration knitted his eyebrows together.

"Aramis!" The boards moved as his giant friend heaved through, discarding debris and a limb or two.

"No," he said not wanting to distract the hunt. At long las the found her. Pinned underneath once more, but with a rafter resting on her right leg. Her face tipped to the side, showing the extent of the bruises. Aramis, besides himself, lifted the wood off her and held her, if only for a moment, in his arms.

He started to hyperventilate. His eyes inspected all the damage done to her. His hands wept with blood from her shoulder wound. He couldn't get to her. He couldn't get to her in time. Aramis raised her upper half to his chest as he smoothed out the frayed braid.

Porthos moved to grasp his shoulder. "Aramis, breathe!"

"I'll kill him," Aramis whispered. Furious, he surveyed for that rat bastard. From the closest door, dripped in her blood along his face, he wished he had a charged pistol in his hand. Jussac narrowed his eyes at the sight before cowardly fleeing the scene. "I'll kill him!" Aramis hollered.

Porthos held his arm from crushing Antoinette's bruised wrist. "I'll take care of him. You focus on Netta,"

Aramis sobered. HIs eyes fell on to her shallow breathing. His hand glued to her face. His fingers skimmed over her pale pink lips.

"My Antoinette," he broke. "Love. Hold on," He begged her. Aramis damned his tears for being too emotional. He felt vulnerable. Unable to fix her. She needed help, but none came to her.

The whites of her eyes blinked profusedly as she inhaled sharply. Aramis guided her away from some dust and allowed her to start her respiratory recovery. She coughed and cleared her throat dozens of time. Each time, Aramis would hold her hand, brush her hand between his fingers, and smile down.

He began to prayer in her absence of voice. He prayed to God, to give her back his muse. To continue. To no longer suffering. To not pay for his and others sins in the wrath of the Devil's advocates. He prayed animously and automatically as the sun's rays shone across her features.

Deep purple bruises in the shape of a handprint were achingly visible. He cringed as she moaned from all the pain bestowed. She scrunched her eyes from the intensity of the light. Her head, caressed by Aramis, gazed at the tower that saved her from the darkness.

She wet her lips. "I think we did more damage to the church than to me. Might need to spend some of Porthos' money to the collection plates," Her voice all raspy.

Aramis could cry from relieve. He tucked Netta in to his chest without smothering her.

"Shh. Save your breath. You're going to be fine," He kissed her forehead and lips. She had tried to respond back but felt too tired to have done so.

"Aramis," she said. Tears escaping at the crevice. "I really do want to marry you,"

"And you will," he protested. "You and me, remember? You'll be the one in the white dress, and I'll be nervous at the stand in front of God and our witnesses," Aramis took her right hand into his. He glanced nervously into her eyes that twinkled from the sun. His breathlessness was accounted. He thought aloud, "You'll look lovely as ever, especially with my ring on your finger. They'll toast to us with the finest of meads. God will shine it's heavenly glow on us when we enter out as man and wife. I'll finally get to sweep you over our own threshold the proper way. And then I'll tend to your every need the morning after; not even lift one of your fingers. I'll be the one by your side morning in and night out. For the rest of our days,"

His envisioning of their first home cradled back. How the wood would creak by the staircase. The fire would always be lit during the fall and winter months. In the spring, fresh flowers would be vased and watered on every table. The little details began to form. Like an artist painting a canvas, he waited patiently to soak in all the remnants of his future. Like watercolors bursting with dynamite, he could easily could recall days ago there was a blurriness surrounding the cloud-ridden dream. Now with glorious revelation, each blur thinned and stretched. With finer lines, he could pick out what was really on the tables. Lilacs and home-grown daffodils. Aramis could see the striped quilt Antoinette would dubiously attempt to sew.

All the small things made the picture in his head more realistic. And then another realization. It was not a dream. It was never a dream. It was a reality. The painter who sculpted this endeavor had hand-crafted this delight to puzzle him. And now he had finally solved the mystery. The artist was none other than a message of God.

All those years at the monastery, hopelessly searching for his meaning, his purpose... all revolved to one person. In his arms, he held what he considered the world. Without hope, without love he would have never been able to be the man he is today. That scrawny priest of a man would never slash at his wrongdoers. He would wander on like a lost boy with a lamp in a sea of fog.

That was until his shining light approached him six years ago.

The fog in his mind cleared. "Since when have you've been such a romantic?"

Aramis hummed to himself. "When you stumbled into my confession,"

It took awhile, but Aramis managed to get Antoinette up on her feet. Her arm slung around him as she wobbled her feet to move. He slowed their pace at a speed that's comfortable for her stiff joints. Blood mattered on the floor. Not hers, others.

Netta was patched up by Aramis. Droplets of blood hung here and there on her tattered clothing but to the very least, he dressed her wounds and let her beautiful hair loose. Magnificent waves caressed her one good shoulder.

A rumble of feet pounded in front of them. Porthos, ecstatic and out of breath, appeared. It drew great breath from him to see both of his friends alive and sort of well. "Jussac escaped. Half of his crew are slain. We won,"

"Rochefort?" she asked.

Porthos' lip curled in victory. "Dead. By the blade of D'Artagnan. The lordly lion pranced around the rooftop so skillfully!" From then until they docked to their airship Porthos gallivanted off with the tales of Rochefort's demise. Antoinette tried not to laugh at the jovial giant making lovey-dovey imitations of Constance and D'Artagnan as they reconciled for the first time.

When the winds calmed Antoinette held a firm grip on the railing. She gazed out at the sight of Parisian colors. Deep blues and extravagant tans. The straw-covered rooftops were alive and bustling the streets up and down the different corridors. Still ahead they glided through the clouds to their next destination- the palace.

Antoinette's bad arm was wrapped in the convience of a sling for the time being. It would be all well again soon. She squinted her eyes as she could see the puffy white clouds evaporate around them. If it werent for the sling, she would outstretch her wingspan and pretend to fly like a bird. Far, far away from Paris.

The thought struck her dumb. From Paris? She bit her lip. That's where it all started. Where she bumped into Aramis. The drafting of the first regiment of the Musketeers. The training grounds she at first watched. Her first rendevous with him and the first place to call home. Despite her mulled exasperations, it would be too silly to pick up and left immediately when they just arrived. The thought ached through her. Worse than her wounds and bruises.

How dare she think of it?

Aramis snuck in from behind and kissed her neck, carefully avoiding the bruises that had been wetted with a salve. She wouldn't have to worry too long for the bruises. His face pressed against hers as his arms coiled around her waist.

"We're going home," he said. And for once Antoinette couldn't have pictured another spot she would rather be with him. Paris. "Rest now," He kissed her lips longingly.

Sooo... TWO CHAPTERS! So proud of myself. Never would have done it but I got so many nice reviews begging for more. It's kinda sad there's only more chapter left after this :/

I hope it meets everyone's expectations. I worked five hours on this just so you know. :))))

Also: just want to mention when reviewing to come up with questions for the cast/character episode I'm planning. Realllly excited to do that.

For SMFMHE readers (10th kingdom): not on hold but not working on it. obviously want to get this project done and over with before readers start with this new project. The most tedious thing about writing it is getting all the dialogue and motions. Such a task but I do it for you guys.

pit: had a really bad week that turned into a painful weekend. just the atmosphere to write was bad for my motivation. :/

peak: two chapters!