Author's Notes: One of my favorite new games is to write from an outsider's point of view.
I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.
Aramis opened the door of the room, ushered her in and shut it firmly behind them. Caroline set her pack down and breathed. Solid walls around her and she felt the flyaway pieces of herself coming back together.
They encountered no trouble on their flight to Calais, but it was still a blur of horses and walking and fear-filled darkness. The few hours that they had stopped when it became too dark to ride on were some of the longest of her life. Caroline had no intention of sleeping, but she must have dozed at some point. She dreamt of a line of dead men, Porthos, Edwards, looking at her with hollow eyes.
Your life is the price.
I pay it gladly.
Her eyes had snapped open to Aramis' hand on her shoulder. It had taken everything in her, every bit of will and poise not to gallop like a madwoman all the way to Calais.
They had arrived at The Lady of the Port around mid-day and Aramis had secured them a room on the second floor with access to the walkway that overlooked the courtyard.
Aramis roamed the room once, tossed his hat on the table and then pulled a chair to the window. He made a move to sit, but straightened up again, running his hands through his hair, . He stared out the window and then turned toward her.
He looked like a caged animal. And she was tired of controlling mens' fates.
"Go," said Caroline.
"I can't," responded Aramis, but it sounded beseeching.
"You delivered me safely, no one knows we're here. I'll wait, stay out of sight. Go find him." Aramis paused and then shook his head, face wooden.
"I can't leave you unguarded in a foreign city. We don't know who is watching. Porthos will meet us here. Athos was behind us, if anything went wrong...," he ran a hand roughly over his face. "Athos will take care of it."
Caroline gripped the edge of the table, thoughts running wild. What if they were all dead? Her guards, Edwards, her friends, all those Musketeers? What if there was no Athos or d'Artagnan to assist Porthos? What if Porthos was beyond all helping?
She didn't dare voice any of it. But she didn't need to, she heard all of it in the things Aramis didn't say.
"No. No, I'll stay here, no chance of missing each other. They'll be here soon enough," he said smoothly. The less observant might have actually believed him. He unbuckled his sword, his belts and settled himself in the chair by the window. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and proceeded to carefully and methodically clean his musket. Caroline studied him for a time.
As he polished and rubbed, she watched some of the tension leave him. He had never looked out of control, in danger of panic, but it was there. Just beneath that ready smile and even voice. He'd wanted to gallop from this place as fast as he could to find Porthos, to help his friends. She knew it. And yet he stayed.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hours later, she wanted to ask Aramis how many times he planned on cleaning his guns. How dirty could they have gotten in the quarter of an hour since he last cleaned them? But it was the only thing he had to do, other than watch every person coming and going. Which he did, unfailingly. Hoping for their friends, but bracing for something else. Caroline could plainly see his exhaustion.
"We can't expect Athos and the others until tomorrow. You should rest."
"Porthos could arrive at any time."
"I can watch for him." He shook his head, never looking up.
"Monsieur Aramis, I can promise these pistols aren't just for show. I am an accomplished shot." He made no move from the window or to set his gun down. "Very well then," she sighed. "Here." She placed both of her pistols on the table, within his reach. "You might as well clean mine as well. Before you rub yours away to nothing." Aramis smiled at her ruefully. She resisted a sudden urge to ruffle his hair, so much he looked like an impish child who intended to be good, but could never seem to manage it.
"One of us might as well get some sleep," she said instead. She lay down on the bed. "Wake me in a few hours?"
"Of course, Mademoiselle."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
He didn't, but she woke up anyway. It didn't look like Aramis had moved, but he must have. The sun had set, the room was lit by a few candles and the well banked fire. A plate of cheese and bread sat next to a bottle of wine on the table. Caroline sat up slowly, muscled protesting.
Her pistols fairly shone in the firelight. She couldn't decide whether it made her want to laugh or cry.
"There's food, Mademoiselle Ambassador, if you're hungry."
She wasn't. She felt hollowed out, but not hungry. Weary of long hours of waiting and yet dreading what tomorrow could bring. Caroline longed for the friendship of her ladies. She missed her quiet, capable Edwards. Abruptly, she smoothed her hands over her lap and straightened her shoulders. No getting maudlin. No weeping. Caroline did the only thing she could think of to do. She was an excellent conversationalist.
"Why did you come with me?" Aramis looked surprised by her sudden question.
"I have an overly developed sense of fealty," he quipped lightly.
"Fealty," she repeated dully.
"Is that not a good enough reason?"
"It would be, if I thought it were true...or..." she tilted her head, analyzing him closely. "Or it was fealty. Just not to me." Aramis shifted slightly, just enough that she knew she was right.
"A man so brave as Porthos must have need of someone at his side constantly," said Caroline playfully.
"I believe you mean bull-headed. And that is why he ends up in trouble. That's why he's..." Aramis stopped. When he spoke again, he tone was much cooler. "He is doing his duty, as are we all. We serve France and the King." She shook her head.
"Do not discount it. I have seen many a man do their duty and end up hollow for it. Monsieur Porthos has honor. He does what he thinks is right and it fills him with vibrant fire." When Aramis turned his suddenly anguished eyes on her, it felt like a slap.
"And when he burns out?" She dropped her gaze. The silence grew heavy as she realized what he meant. It didn't matter if it was an honorable death, a respectable sacrifice.
To Aramis, it would just be loss.
Finally, she spoke again.
"You are angry with me for causing all this. You are angry with him, because you care for him," she said quietly. "But can you truly say you wish him any different?"
Aramis cocked his head slightly and peered at her, calculating.
"What a strangely familiar thing to say, Mademoiselle." Caroline took a deep breath, and assumed the role she played, posture perfect. When she answered him, her voice was cultured and demure.
"I should be able to converse with any man or woman at any court I visit. I am clever, but I must never be seen as more clever than my host. I am to be charming, but not a flirt. Agreeable, but never weak. A splendid guest and one that knows just when to take her leave." She smiled at his puzzled look. "If I am to be all these things, Monsieur Aramis, I had ought to be able to understand the people around me. I have been in your court for weeks. I believe I have gleaned a thing or two about you all."
"Such as?" he challenged. Caroline had no intention of disappointing.
"You, Athos, d'Artagnan, and Porthos are often assigned to the King at the same time. I wondered at it, but I realized you are not just compatriots, but friends. Your Captain Treville clearly prefers to keep you four together. Partly, I'm sure, you work well in collaboration. But I could always know which Musketeers would be accompanying us by his manner." Aramis raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving.
"If it was a company involving all four of you, he always looked more at ease, more willing to let you all be the watchful eyes. He trusts you. I take it as a compliment, really, that he sent you to accompany me." She pursed her lips, thinking. "Athos is terribly serious, almost cold. But...sometimes...when he thinks no one is watching and someone has done something amusing, he nearly smiles." Aramis nodded and she continued.
"D'artagnan is young, but not only in age. He's uncertain. He clearly hasn't been a Musketeer for long. He looks to others to take his cues."
Aramis snorted. The gloom lifted from him a bit.
"In the palace, perhaps. He would do well to be a tad more cautious in other matters."
"Mmmh...that is interesting coming from you."
"Meaning?"
"You bow to the Queen, and yet you never lower your eyes. And she will meet your gaze. Every time."
"And what does that say about me?" There was a bait, but Caroline did not rise to it. She didn't want to fight with Aramis.
"That you should be more careful," she said softly. "The King is a child, naïve and desperate for approval. He trusts his Musketeers implicitly, but the Cardinal," she paused. "The Cardinal is a snake. Watchful, smart and cunning. He makes my skin crawl. Monsieur Aramis, if it suited his purposes, he would kill you and never think of you again." She'd just shown her hand, little faith in Louis and outright suspicion of the Cardinal. But she wasn't terribly worried. Caroline was convinced she'd read them all correctly and they had no love for Richelieu. Aramis studied her with an unreadable expression.
"You're wrong about one thing."
"Oh?
"I am not angry with you. You did nothing to cause any of this."
"Perhaps not, but it does not change the fact that my friends, and yours, are in danger solely because these men came after me." He did not try to argue.
"Tell me more," he said, leaning back.
"About?"
"Us. The court. Paris. I don't particularly care." She pulled her legs up, leaning against the wall.
"I went hunting with King Louis. He's not a terrible shot, but I don't know how he ever expects to get a kill when he cannot stop talking. Talking and talking, but never actually saying much of import." Aramis smiled and stretched his legs out, folding his hands across his chest. "Or those puns. God above, the puns. But he isn't entirely hopeless. He loves beautiful things. I saw some of the buildings he has commissioned. Visited with some of the artists he has given patronage. Louis truly wants Paris to be a shining city. He has vision for that, at least." As she spoke, Caroline watched Aramis' gaze fall somewhere in the middle distance and lose focus. She lowered her voice.
"Captain Treville cares for you like sons. He doesn't just look at you like reliable soldiers. I said he trusts you, and he does. But I think you lot have a knack for trouble. And only a father could smile on such a propensity." Aramis' blinked slowly. "And he does smile, quietly to himself, with considerable fondness."
"Porthos made me uneasy at first. He's boisterous and unapologetic. But I see now, why he is that way. He's bigger and stronger than most. His very skin betrays his difference, before he ever speaks. When you are going to stand out, no matter what you do, what use is there in attempting to hide it?" Aramis' eyes slid shut. "And he is brave and proud. He would never wish to hide it."
Caroline dropped her volume to a near whisper. "And you, Monsieur. You show your affection far easier than any of the others. And that is its own bravery. For all of the perceived gallantry of battle, I know it took just as much courage to ride away with me. To leave them behind." His breathing was deep, even. "And I thank you for it."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Aramis jerked awake with shout. He looked around the room frantically, before his gaze fell on her and he seemed to remember where he was. He slumped back in his chair, looking haggard and no more rested for the hours he'd been asleep.
"What is it?" Caroline asked.
"Nothing." She sighed deeply.
"Monsieur Aramis, we have nothing but time." He stared at her and then stared out the window at the grey light of early morning. She thought he'd ignored her entirely when he finally spoke.
"Several years ago, I was part of a mission that was ambushed. This has stirred up old memories, it seems." She made a sound of understanding, but waited. He fidgeted, restless again.
"Everyone died." Caroline's eyes widened. "Everyone died but me," he finished in a cracked murmur.
She rose and stood across the window from him. His gaze slowly found hers.
They weren't friends. They lived in different worlds. But at last, she understood the barely restrained terror that surrounded him, that had been their nearly constant companion. He could once again be the lone survivor. The only one left of his friends and comrades. It would kill him. Caroline saw it clearly in the lines around his eyes that had deepened since only yesterday, the clench of his fists, the draw of his shoulders.
She knelt at his feet, took his hands in her own. She squeezed them and poured all of her will and bearing into her voice.
"Not this time. Your Musketeers are formidable as any I have every witnessed. And," she said, allowing a small smile, "your friends seem a bit mad. Which makes them all the more dangerous." Her smile widened as Aramis returned it, ever so slightly. "This time with be different, Aramis." He startled slightly.
"Apologies," she said, "But, if you are amenable, I believe we have reached a point past formalities."
"I agree. And...thank you, Caroline," he concurred. His hands returned her grip.
Author's Note: I didn't mean this chapter to be so long.
But when Caroline and Aramis got together, they just would NOT shut up.
I have entire pages of conversation I'm not even going to use...