From Bitter Memories to Sweet Havens

by Rainsaber

D'Artagnan makes a dangerous self-discovery at the same time in which Athos prepares for a new change in his own life. Along the road, revelations between them both leads to something that may or may not have been present since the day they met. Mature audiences for later chapters. Slash references and content.

4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

D'Artagnan needed no aide back into the house, but the last half of the staircase nearly did him in. Athos didn't say a word but offered his hand and his shoulder when they were needed. The library itself was a large room, and also a bright one. Though the wood paneling normally would have darkened the rest of the room, the tall windows, the absence of curtains, and the fact that it was facing the east told him all he needed to know about what mornings were like in this room. The nights told a different story, with used candelabras and oil lamps mounted on the walls, three relatively small chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and even the iron-cast rack that held a large supply of wood for the large fireplace.

A worn desk with piles of ledgers, inkwells, quills, and paper at the ready for letters and personal notes sat directly across from the doorway. Athos left D'Artagnan next to a chair in front of the desk to clear off the more comfortable seats by the fireplace from more books than Aramis would probably know what to do with. The entire room seemed encased by shelves of them. He wondered if perhaps Athos was the confidant Aramis referred to in his letters about having the wealth of necessary materials he needed for his thesis. In fact, after one quick glance around the somewhat musty but well-kept old room, he would be shocked if Athos hadn't lent Aramis some of the old vellum copies he spied lying next to what looked like an old family bible.

While he wandered around the room, skimming his eyes over old tomes and portraits of nobles, Grimaud came in silent as a mouse, poured the wine, and left before D'Artagnan had a chance to thank him. All it took was a wince, when he turned to join Athos, to be steered directly to an oversized chair with overstuffed pillows and cushions. As D'Artagnan sank down into it he couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"Comfortable," Athos asked with a hint of a smile as he handed over D'Artagnan's glass of wine.

"Sinfully so," D'Artagnan conceded. "I didn't think you were serious about the furniture."

"It's not in the modern style of Paris, but it's practical enough for me after all these years."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Don't tell me this enormous chair is over eight hundred years old."

Athos was unfazed as he sipped his own wine and took the other seat next to D'Artagnan's. "It's less than a hundred. But it was hand-made by my mother's father so that's another reason I am loathe to get rid of it."

"Your family, they were carpenters?"

"My mother's family. They did not come from any noble blood but their wit and judgment on their trade served them well. They were hard workers, they knew when to invest and when to save, and over generations the commoners of this land viewed them as their own kind of nobility. My grandfather saw no distinction between a lord and a poor man if they had the same value of honor and character. I can only guess that it was my mother's fair and gentle nature that attracted the likes of my father."

D'Artagnan frowned at the darker tone in Athos' voice. "Why do you say that?"

"My father's family came from too much wealth to know anything about honest work. To him and my aunts and uncles it was all about what you see around you in this room. Books, treasures-some of them lost to time-histories, ancestral ties to lords, barons, kings, and saints. I could tell you who my twenty-times great grandfather was, who he married, who he knew, how he acquired his land and wealth, how it passed down to me through disownments, infirmities, unsuccessful war ventures, and political alliances." Athos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he spoke more calmly. "I am thankful for my education but for my part the better part of it was spent drilling needless aristocratic manners, gossip-mongering, and sycophantic behavior into a mind better used for simpler matters."

D'Artagnan gave Athos a gentle smile full of understanding. "Like being a musketeer?"

Athos hid his bitter smile behind the wine. "If I wasn't my father's only son perhaps he would have had some mercifully similar thoughts."

"Your mother's family, were they all carpenters and tradesmen?"

"Not all. Great deals of them were carpenters but there were a few blacksmiths, farmers, and a handful of vintners. This estate has seen its share of attempts at simpler trades, but the lords of this house never dirtied their hands in it. My family's name, I am ashamed to say, has endured at the expense of others for far too many years. Such extravagance no longer stands for me to show you proof. If you can imagine it, a grand family chapel used to stand between the main house and the stables, connecting all three structures.

"At one point in time this house was the jewel of Blois. Kings and Queens retreated here in secret during times of war and peace alike. That portrait you see next to the door is of my eight-times great grand-uncle Henri. It was commissioned by John the second for his bravery and loyalty. And that tapestry above the fireplace was a gift from Adelaide of Aquitaine, wife of Hugh Capet who was the founder of the Capetian dynasty of French kings, to my fifteen times great-grandmother, Eleanora."

"My God," D'Artagnan laughed. "I don't mean to sound ignorant, Athos, but I know very little of history beyond the last fifty years. And I'm afraid I don't know anything about who these people are or even when they lived."

Athos frowned and averted his eyes. "The product of my youth I'm afraid."

"When did Queen Adelaide live?"

"The latter half of the tenth century."

"That tapestry is over six hundred years old?!"

Athos nodded.

D'Artagnan turned his head around and furrowed his brows as he spied the other one behind them. "What about the one behind the desk?"

"My family ancestry. That one is only five hundred or so."

D'Artagnan could only stare and gape with his slack-jawed mouth.

Through lunch and after it Athos continued his promised history lesson, and by the end of it D'Artagnan had no doubt whatsoever that Athos' original claims about the house were true. Though his mind wandered a few times he found his interest growing in all the lore Athos shared with him about the French nobility and royalty of the days their grandfathers never knew. They were far different times than the kind that they lived in today, and part of him couldn't help but be thankful in many ways how far France had come as a country. He knew for a fact that the present monarchy was far from stable, but compared to the bygone days of blatant and outright murder…well, maybe the enemies of their present king and queens had grown more civil and subtle.

After all, one need only look to the former Cardinal Richelieu for a prime example.

As the afternoon wore on, their conversation passed into a comfortable silence, one in which D'Artagnan accidentally fell asleep. When he woke hours later with a thin blanket draped over him he went to apologize but found Athos with his appreciative nose stuck deep in an old Latin-based tome that looked ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. Athos didn't notice that D'Artagnan had woken so D'Artagnan took advantage of those few precious moments. He felt a bit guilty for it, but now at least he could stare until he was caught, not from the initial and painfully obvious outset. This morning had been a downright assault on his imagination and he was lucky he was still somewhat tired and in more physical pain than normal. Otherwise he shuddered to think of how he might have ruined things before he could have a chance to explain himself.

He sighed inside, wondering why his baser self saw fit to torture him relentlessly with something that he could never have. He promised himself he would try to forget, but here he was years later in the presence of the very person of his secret affections and he still felt those red hot desires just as keenly as when they first sparked to life. Was now the time to admit the truth? It seemed right. But something sharp and immense in his chest begged him not to, told him it was wrong, that he was being impatient, that he could wait a bit longer even though he'd waited too long already.

When the library began to grow dark, Grimaud and Planchet entered and lit the candles, the lamps, and the chandeliers with the aide of long lit poles. Athos took the liberty of starting a warm crackling fire himself. It had been a cooler day than what they both had originally anticipated, but it hadn't been altogether cold. With dinner they had a new wine, a red in an unmarked bottle that made D'Artagnan think it was from some local vineyard. The first thing D'Artagnan noticed was that it wasn't as dry as most of the wines Athos preferred. Upon further examination amidst the pleasant but subtle spices there was a faint trace of blueberries, raspberries, and…plums?

"What do you think of the wine?"

"It's excellent," D'Artagnan praised. "But I'm having trouble placing it. I don't believe it's anything I've tasted before. Is it new?"

"Fairly. It's a new blend. One vine has been growing in these lands for centuries and the other was an import from the south, from your home country."

"The Lledoner Pelut?"

Athos looked a bit surprised when he replied. "Yes. How did you know?"

D'Artagnan smiled a bit at the chance to add his own humble story to the pool of what Athos had told all morning. "My grandfather chose to live the rest of his life as a vintner after his long service to King Henry the third. He was my mother's father and she grew up tending to the Grolleau vines in the north. I had the chance to see the vineyard as a child before a great fire devoured it a few years later. It devastated my uncle's finances and he had no choice but to move his family south to our country. My father helped him start over and eventually my uncle started growing the Lledoner Pelut vine to blend with the Mourvèdre that the other locals tried to cultivate from Spain. The wine was never the same as the old vintage he had but he said he was content with it, though I suspect he still tries to find a way to make the old kind again."

Athos took another sip of it and set the glass, still half-full, aside. "Do you think this would have any trouble selling in Paris?"

"None whatsoever! It has a refinement worthy of His Majesty's court. God forbid they get word of it though."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the maker would work day and night just to satisfy the orders!"

Athos studied him and sat back in his chair when he saw that D'Artagnan was telling the honest truth, not a polite white lie. "You're serious."

"Quite. Do you know the maker, Athos?"

"…I do."

"I would very much like to meet this man and congratulate him before his means increase and his leisure time flies away. I knew a couple of vintners in the south who had little time for friends and even less for their own wives when they had no fear of starvation." D'Artagnan smiled in good nature. "I think he deserves a fair warning."

Athos drummed his hands on the arm of his chair. The hints of a smile dawned in the corners of his mouth, and if D'Artagnan looked closer there was the slightest tinge of pink to his cheeks as if- "He sits before you."

D'Artagnan nearly choked on the wine already in his mouth, and had to take an undignified moment to swallow the rest of it that didn't try to worm it's way into his lungs. "This is your wine," he exclaimed with a cough.

Athos chuckled. "It is."

"Then I am very sorry for you," D'Artagnan laughed. "You've done France far too much good for her own sake with this!"

"I'm sure those thieves on the road would have agreed with you."

"Was right in thinking you were acquainted with them before?"

"Just and too little. They've effectively scared nearly all travelers and traffic off the north road."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Why have we heard nothing of this in Paris?"

"That is partly my doing. When Louis asked me to resume my responsibilities as Count of Blois it wasn't all due to corrupt barons and greedy tax collectors. A small handful of unruly men grew to what we saw yesterday on the road. Most of them are orphans, boys with no direction, no education, or alternative means of survival. For months I've been pouring my finances into this wine for the sole promise of success. What I plan to do with that success is build and run a home that will house, feed, and educate the young children of this countryside. No matter what means they aspire, if they enter that house they will leave knowing they have the power to make it real."

"So they don't fall into the hands of men like the one I killed yesterday," D'Artagnan concluded.

"Precisely."

"It's an excellent idea, Athos. If there is anything I can do, any influence I have in my power to give when I return to Paris then I will do it. I'm sorry I have denied you your justice. It was not intentional I assure you. But that man…his kind begs steel to meet flesh."

"In truth you have done me a favor killing him," Athos said. "His band of rogues has been stealing from my shipments for weeks. It's enough of a trouble to keep the vintage in demand when you're competing with other more established vineyards. But to have complaints about carts half-full or empty upon arrival are too much to let pass. He's lucky you got to him first."

They fell into a familiar silence that in the past was nothing but comfortable. Now, it felt oppressive because an opportune moment presented itself yet again. D'Artagnan tried to distract himself with the wine, then the fire, then the large room itself if only to prolong the inevitable. No matter what he did his nerves grew, and it showed.

"D'Artagnan?"

He took a deep breath. "Yes, Athos?"

"I do not know if now is the time, but I am compelled to remind you of the answers you promised me yesterday."

He winced at the plain concern and bit the inside of his lip while he wondered why he ever thought this was a good idea. Yes, it was a matter of honor. Yes, it was a matter of honesty. But it was also a matter of friendship. And something like this, something entirely needless, could very well damage it beyond repair. It had always been a stark fear of his that this moment should come to pass, even more so under his own free will because he wasn't inebriated enough to justify the blame on the wine tomorrow morning when he could come to his senses.

But, if truth be told, keeping secrets from his friends had caused him more pain and suffering over the years than any physical injury he had to bear. And he was tired of it. He hated living a lie day to day, even though it was necessary for the sake of his own life and security. What he hated more than that was living a lie to those he loved and trusted. Keeping secrets from them, from Athos for example, felt like distrust, like a betrayal of all they'd gone through over the years. Athos deserved to know the truth, at the very least…even if this would be the last time they-

D'Artagnan swallowed the traces of wine left in his mouth and put the glass to the side to save his churning stomach. There wasn't any use in trying to talk himself out of it, because by now Athos knew something was wrong. And though the years had tempered them both, D'Artagnan knew from experience how stubborn the man could still be. After all, it had only been a year ago that Athos rode to Paris to confront him for not writing in months. Maybe D'Artagnan had done it on purpose, just to see if his friend would still follow through with his threats, but the open chastisement-though scathing-was welcome.

"I did promise them, didn't I," he asked, more as a self-push then a question of whether he had to go through with it.

"I would not ask them of you if I did not have concerns of my own for your welfare."

"You would be right in having them," D'Artagnan whispered. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you all these years, Athos…"

Athos put his glass to the side as well and leaned forward. "We all have our secrets. Pray tell, what makes yours so different from mine?"

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and tried to stop the trembling from affecting his voice. It wasn't easy. "Their nature…"

"You fear to disclose them to me?"

"Foolishly maybe. I can only pray they are foolish fears, but even then I do not know if I would be granted that luxury of prayer."

Athos got up from his seat and crossed to D'Artagnan, kneeling by his side and grabbing his hand that was grasping the chair arm too tightly. "What is it? I've never seen you tremble like this. What's wrong?"

A chill spread across his back and D'Artagnan had to close his eyes against a wave of dizziness. God, he was falling apart now? Never in the face of an enemy, not even death, but in front of Athos? Alone with a ten-year secret? It was completely absurd. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to throw something. Hell, he wouldn't have minded it if he shed a few tears. D'Artagnan sighed and leaned forward into his hands with elbows supported on his knees. He rubbed at his eyes and them folded his hands together in front of him, lost for how else to say it. He didn't want to, damn it all. He didn't want to lose what had kept him going all these years alone in Paris.

Athos sighed and put a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "Out with it, boy! You know I was never one for words in times like this."

"Even if the moment I utter its name you would be under every obligation to…cast me out?"

"What," Athos exclaimed. "I would never! And you know I wouldn't, no matter what it was!"

D'Artagnan winced at the hurt and the anger behind those words but couldn't reply for the likelihood of causing his dear friend more pain. Athos, however, didn't stop with only words. He grabbed both of D'Artagnan's hands and yanked them down from where they had previously cradled his head.

"What poison has made you think this? Who has made you think this?"

"You know I have not had the steel for another after Constance, and in truth I haven't. Not entirely. For a time I think I knew something of what you must have felt, being alone, feeling empty and listless like all the world's gone dark."

Athos paled. "I should have stayed in Paris. I have done you a terrible wrong-"

"No! Athos, your letters were a sweet comfort, not a bitter reminder of your absence. I've told you before that I understood why you left and I still do. I hold you, nor Aramis, nor Porthos any ill will. Did you not believe me?"

"I once feared that you hid that pain from us, as you were and are prone to do when it came to others' needs, but if that was never its source then what was?"

"A mistake," D'Artagnan admitted. "I was careless."

Athos frowned. "A woman?"

"No, though that is not all that far from the truth. What I mean is that I have not been entirely without that kind of comfort, as of late."

"So it is a woman?"

"No! No, it…" he trailed off. Now it came to it. And the words felt like a lead weight in his mouth. "It is…her other half."

D'Artagnan sprang out of his seat, as best he could, and crossed to the opposite side of the room with words spilling forth like a broken dam. "I have abused your trust and our friendship, I know-And I will not ask anything more of you-I've done far too much to ask for forgiveness-I-I never meant to take such liberties but I thought it was something I could-something that could be ignored or prayed away but-"

"D'Artagnan," Athos tried to interrupt, in that same hurtful tone that D'Artagnan couldn't bear to hear.

"-It never went away-I never wanted to disappoint you or Aramis or Porthos or Monsieur de Treville or even the memory of my father-Believe me, that was the furthest thing from my mind, to dishonor any of you by asking for your confidence or advice because I didn't know what to do or how to make it go away, but-"

"D'Artagnan-"

"But I didn't want to make it go away…not-not when I knew acceptance and understanding from a complete stranger who had every right to report me or see me hanged or suffer a traitor's death for my sins. I face that every day and I know the dangers I carelessly put myself in and the last thing I would ever want is to endanger any of you along with me, needlessly-I won't! I absolutely refuse to do it-In my good conscience I cannot stay here-I shouldn't have even opened my mouth let alone come seeking-"

"D'Artagnan," Athos shouted as he grabbed him by the shoulders. "I know."

D'Artagnan paused and couldn't understand that what he heard wasn't a figment of his crazed imagination. "What…you know. What does…What do you mean you know?"

"I've known of your inclination since you first came to live with us in Paris," Athos said, gently.

Now D'Artagnan was truly confused. "I don't understand. I didn't even know until…you knew before I did? How?"

Athos gave his shoulders a firm but reassuring squeeze. "You see more than most men do in others. Most see flawless skin, others scorn weight, height, and hair color. And then there are others, fewer men in this world that have the ability to see the beauty beyond what these bodies of ours can offer. Oftentimes friends, acquaintances, brothers in arms, others you didn't know would capture your quiet affections. You grew silent and still. You kept a good distance in every way except with your eyes. You blushed in the dark when you thought no one was looking. Whenever a beautiful woman or a pretty girl passed your line of sight your gaze didn't waver and turn on them."

D'Artagnan blushed and looked down at his feet. It was a frustrating truth he had tried to ignore, and to hear that it had been so obvious felt like a nasty blow to the gut. He never wanted Athos to feel uncomfortable or as if he didn't matter because he did matter! Most of the time D'Artagnan had forced his eyes on someone else to take his attention away from Athos, so he wouldn't be tempted into doing anything foolish like ruining a priceless friendship! The sheer possibility that he had inadvertently hurt his friend, whom he loved in so many ways, hurt him more.

D'Artagnan couldn't meet Athos' eyes because of the shock. "Was it truly so plain to see?"

"For those of us who were looking," Athos replied, softly. "Yes."

"But-"

Athos took his chin in a gentle hand and made him meet his eyes. They were completely devoid of judgment and full of nothing but compassion. There was no trace of hurt or resentment. If D'Artagnan were honest, the open honesty stole his breath away and wiped any further fears from his mind. "If I've kept your secret for all this time," Athos whispered. "Then how, on my good conscience, could I punish you for it now? I've never thought of you differently because of it."

"The world would disagree with you," he whispered back.

"Then the world doesn't deserve you. And that is the truth."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I am putting you in danger by sharing this-"

"Danger is everywhere. It strikes at any time. All we have ever had are moments like this, when we both know there isn't anything one wouldn't do for the other."

"What about Aramis and…the Church?"

"Aramis was never one for placing doctrine above the people who follow it. He would stand by your side, even under judgment from the entirety of Christendom."

"…Porthos?"

"You know he would. We've gone through too much to toss a friendship away over a difference of love. And his friendships are more dear to him than any promise of wealth the world could offer."

"What did I do to ever deserve your friendship?"

Athos smiled. "Too much for me to even begin to list."

"I feel ashamed that I've doubted you, Athos. What can I do to atone for it? I'll do anything."

"…I'll think of something. But for now you can sit, finish your wine, and tell me more about this complete horse shit you've been thinking these past several years about yourself."

"Yes, do tell," Porthos said from the hallway.

D'Artagnan jumped badly and froze when he saw Porthos and Aramis standing at the mouth of the hallway. Athos steadied him as he swayed from the shock and sudden discomfort. Had they-oh, of course they had! They heard every single stupid thing that came out of his stupid mouth.

Aramis, in some more casual clothes than the garb of his order that he was normally required to wear, came forward first and D'Artagnan met him with hesitation. "What Athos said was true," Aramis said. "You need never worry of my loyalty. We've faced danger for you before."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "This is different. I would never ask any of you to lie for me."

Aramis put a hand on D'Artagnan's hand in both of his. "Perhaps it is different, but not enough to scare us away. And you would never have to ask us to do anything, D'Artagnan."

Completely overcome with a sudden rush of tears, D'Artagnan surged forward and embraced Aramis with immense gratitude. Aramis returned it just as fiercely. They only had a precious moment before Porthos came bounding over and lifting the both of them off their feet. "You goose! We would never abandon you, not even if we were faced with an entire continent of the Cardinal's guards!"

"Porthos," Aramis gasped. "Air! Now!"

D'Artagnan laughed when he was set back on his feet, because the dizziness and weakness was not just from his body, but the sudden lightness in his soul that it had needed for years. He had never doubted his friends in anything but this, and he was sorry to have done so now. It was certainly not the first time he counted himself lucky in having their friendship, but for some reason this seemed to tug at his heart much harder than every time prior to this. In this small circle of companionship he had no reason to fear and no need to hide. And a small something told him that somehow he'd always known that.

All it seemed he had needed was the courage to face it himself.