Sorry, I had this chapter written and it was meant to be all cute and fluffy. It's not. I rewrote it all. Oops. :) Its a bit messy, and it's supposed to be, I just hope you can kinda keep up anyway!

Chapter 17

He was drunk. No, really, that was an understatement. He was so far away from just being drunk that he didn't even have the proper word for it. He wasn't sure for how long he had been drinking without taking a break, but it had at least been several days since he drank anything else but wine.

He didn't care. He couldn't feel the pain when he was drinking. He didn't want to feel the pain. It was too great, it was swallowing him whole and he had no clue how to deal with it. It was taking over his life, and he no longer remembered how long it had been since he lost his parents. Years. Years had passed. His leg had healed well enough, and to the surprise of all the physicians, he could now walk without a limp. It hadn't been without trouble though, and the biggest issue had been his downward spiral. He had felt guilt greater than anything he had ever felt, and he could not understand why he was alive when so many other brave men had died. He had accomplished nothing, he hadn't helped in any way.

He didn't deserve to live.

But he was alive. He wasn't living, but he was alive. He wasn't enjoying his life, depression was taking over like storm clouds draining a beautiful day, massive, powerful, and uncontrollable. It was eating him up as a whole. He would wake every day and feel disappointed that he actually made it through the night. He would drink wine for breakfast, wine and dinner and crawl down in bed. He was allowing the days to pass, hoping that somehow days would just carry on, turn into years and soon life would've passed him by.

But Nounou would have none of this. She had let him be by himself for a while, until she couldn't take it anymore. One day, she had walked inside the bar, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him out of there. He was neglecting his duties as the Comte he now was, and she would have none of it. He didn't give up the bottle, but she made certain it was in amounts that would still allow him to do all asked of him, and for him to continue on with his life without slowly killing himself.

And it was sometime there, after Nounou had stepped in and taken charge of his life, that Anne entered it.

He had been sitting in the bar, by the window, just staring out of it, watching people go by, slowly emptying the bottle in front of him, when she walked by. She had arrived with a carriage, and she caught his eyes the minute she stepped out of it. She was dressed in a simple, light blue dress, her hair pinned up high on her head and she seemed out of place amongst all the grey and brown dresses of the women living here. She seemed out of place as she was looking around, most likely in search of an inn.

Olivier could not tear his eyes away from her, something about her demanded his full attention, and he felt compelled to stare at her. He could not explain it, but Nounou had told him it was love. It was overwhelming, life-consuming, breath-taking love at first sight.

.

"Whoever loves, loves at first sight."*

.

He had gotten up from his chair, leaving the bottle behind for the first time in years, walked straight up to her, and introduced himself. She had been startled and shy, but had accepted his invitations to stay at the manor when he so impulsively suggested it.

And she had stayed there. His awkward, shy nature kept her intrigued, her absolute beauty kept him enchanted. It didn't take long for them to fall in love, and were constantly seen next to each other, never leaving each other's side. They did everything together, were steadily seen out on romantic picnics, swimming in the lake, and she was always there whenever he had to attend some boring ball or meeting.

The marriage was grand, glamorous and majestic, with three hundred guests who travelled from far and near to attend the wedding. The celebrations were held for three days, and ended with the biggest feast the city of La Fére had ever beheld. Witnesses had said that they had never seen the Comte so happy as he was during that time. They held a garden wedding, with chairs dressed in white standing in perfect rows, with an aisle made of white roses, and lanterns hung from lines between the trees of the garden, creating an altar.

She had been wearing a white dress with a long train trailing behind her, with light blue forget-me-nots in her hair and hands, her bridesmaids wearing dresses of the same light blue shade. The smile across Olivier's face had reached between ear to ear, and he had never stood straighter of felt prouder than that exact moment as they changed wedding bands and promised each other fidelity forever. Nothing was to tear them apart.

For a few years, they lived on as the perfect, happily married couple, enjoying every minute they could spend together. One of the most memorable was the first anniversary of their wedding.

Anne had woken in the morning, stretching and twisting in bed she had realized she was alone. That fact alone left her confused, because Olivier had never left bed without letting her know before. Being awoken by a kiss was something that set her morning right from the start.

Something on her bedside table caught her eye, and turning towards it she could see the small glass with a few forget-me-nots standing in water. She couldn't help but to smile, ever since she was a child it had been her favourite flower, and after picking more than one, and spending all days pressing them into books and for jewellery, Olivier had adopted the flower as his favourite as well. It was a symbol for their love.

Next to the glass was a handwritten note, and she immediately recognized her husband's handwriting.

'Dress, and follow me.'

Her eyes trailed across the floor as she suddenly noticed the small bundles of three or four flowers placed together with a small bow, lying in a perfect row from her bed to the bedroom door. Laughing at her husband's antics, she dressed herself as quickly as she could in one of her favourite, blue dresses, and then hurried out of the room, picking the flowers on her way out. She followed the trail down the stairs and through the hallway. On her way she met her maids and servants, all of them smiling widely and gently. They all knew what he was up to, and she could not help but to giggle to them as she passed.

Their valet was by the front door as she reached it, holding a single flower in his white gloves, and he handed it to her while opening the grand door.

Outside the doors were Olivier sat upon his bay thoroughbred, a flower in his one hand while holding the reins both to his horse and Anne's grey mare in his other hand. He was smiling widely and she could not help but to laugh happily at the sight.

A stool was placed next to her horse, and she gracefully jumped up into the side-saddle, and was handed the flower from her husband.

"Bonjour, mon Comtesse."

She smiled as she blushed at his romantic nature. He didn't show it often in front of other people, but it was one of her favourite sides of him, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

"Good morning, my Comte."

"May I have your company for the day?"

"You may have my company forever."

Olivier smiled fondly before he eased his horse into a walk, her mare following suit. She placed the flower behind her ear before reaching over to grab his hand. Their fingers enlaced each other, and they kept up the easy gait, with their hands intertwined, until they reached the massive field beyond the hill, with the old oak tree where they would go several times a week just to hide away from the rest of the world. This was their hideaway, in the shade of the massive tree, on the blue field where the forget-me-nots grew by the millions. Here, as always, Olivier stopped, dismounted, and walked over to his wife to grab her by the waist, twirl her in the air before gently lay her down on amongst the flowers.

She was giggling as she lay on her elbow, her head resting in her hand, observing her husband as he walked over to his horse, and pulled bundles wrapped in cloths out from his saddlebags. He was grinning as he turned back to her, kneeling in front of her and unwrapping different kinds of cheese, different kinds of meats, grapes, berries and bread.

As they finished eating, Olivier lay down on his back, his arms behind his head and he closed his eyes as he was at peace. Anne could not help herself but to pick one of the flowers surrounding them, leaning over his chest to tickle at his nose. A hand grabbed her wrist, firm but gentle, and he opened his soft eyes, and smiling which left crinkles by his eyes. She loved those crinkles, and she instantly leaned down, demanding her lips with her own.

Athos shot up into sitting position, his breath heavy and his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't breathe, he could not breathe, and he tossed his duvet off himself as he heaved himself out of bed, stumbling over his own feet, as he just had to get out. He slammed the door up, not caring nor thinking about who would possibly see or hear him, the only thing running through his mind was the intense desire to get out.

He tumbled his way down the stairs, holding onto the railing as if his life depended on it, before leaping outside, forcing the front door wide open, then he just took a few steps to the side before emptying his stomach contents right there and then. Tears were welling up, he could feel the piece of rock stuck in his throat, and he could feel his hands tremble as they were pressed against the cold brick wall.

He barely noticed the strong arms grabbing a hold of his shoulders, forcing him back inside, pushing him down into a couch and wrapping a blanket around him. He was eased back into someone's warm embrace, strong arms forcing him back towards someone's wide chest, a breath on his neck. A hand was placed on his forehead, but he could not see – his eyes were open but there was an array of colours and shapes before his eyes, everything was fuzzy and he could not make out what the shapes were. But they were speaking, and somewhere in his foggy mind he recognized the voices of his friends.

"-'Mis, his fever is climbing…"

"I'm not surprised-"

Someone was tugging at his clothes, and cold hands touching his stomach made him flinch.

"Easy Athos, easy. We're just tryin' to help."

"-Salve in my bag-"

"I'll fetch it."

There was mumbling around him, but he was too tired to listen. Just, too tired. The sound of Porthos mumbling in his ear, gently rocking him against his chest made him slumber, and it didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep once more.

The second he did, she was back there, standing in front of him, wearing a white dress, a white dress symbolizing innocence. She was so beautiful, her long black hair curling in on itself along her shoulders. The flowers in her hands.

The marks on her arms and chest.

The tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry Anne. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you."

"You intend to have me hanged."

"Anne, please believe me. There is nothing I can do. My hands are tied… The law-"

"Screw the law! You alone know what happened! You know he would've killed me had I not defended myself!"

"Anne, please… Please… It's been done. You have to go with them. It is… it is my duty… My duty to uphold the law…"

"How can you do this to me? I love you. And I have always believed you to love me."

"I do love you Anne. But you are a criminal, and you have kept that hidden from me. You murdered my brother. I can not let you walk free."

"I trusted in you Olivier. I opened up my heart to you. I trusted you with my life. And now you intend to take that from me?"

Olivier backed up as the four men came to chain her and take her away, on his orders as Comte de la Fére. He had ordered his wife to be taken to the oak tree, and hung from it. She had to pay for her crimes. The townsmen had told him of her. Told him of her past, of her being a pickpocket, a thief. She had deceived him, and he had acted in anger. He had spat the orders out upon finding the truth about her past.

And he had regretted it every single day since.

Athos once more opened his eyes, and this time he was instantly met by the big eyes belonging to Porthos. There was a rag towards his forehead, it was cool and wet, and water was dripping into his eyes. But he didn't care as he looked straight into Porthos' gentle eyes, waiting for the man to talk.

"Ey, Athos? You back w'us?"

Athos couldn't handle anything more than a simple nod. Every part of his body seemed to be aching, and he felt so drowsy. Porthos' face suddenly moved and was replaced by Aramis' clinical eyes, staring into his own.

"Athos, how are you feeling?"

"Fine." He mumbled. He didn't. But that was a standard answer whenever someone asked. Truth was that his head was spinning terribly, and he felt foggy, as if everything was dancing inside a giant cloud. Focusing was hard, and the hammer towards his skull bone was not really helping either.

Aramis smiled. Not one of those smiles he would do when he could take down an impossible shot. Not one of those smiles he would give Porthos when he had just done something incredibly stupid and utterly amazing. Not one of those smiles he would give d'Artagnan while teasing him. No, this was a smile saying 'I know you're not, and I am worried, but I will smile not to show you.' The smile of course had the complete opposite effect most times.

"Whatever you say. Your fever is dropping. You had me worried there." Aramis mumbled gently, while placing a hand under his head, forcing him up. More hands on his back, heaving him up into sitting position. His body felt oddly numb, and uncontrollable, and everything hurt when they shifted him. Not to speak of his head, spinning all kinds of crazy directions.

"Bucket." Aramis said quietly, as if he could see on Athos' face that the man was turning green. He got the bucket in front of Athos just in time for him to empty what little was left to come up, before removing the bucket. Keeping Athos upright, they brought water to his lips before the mix of herbs Aramis prepared for them whenever they were sick. Athos didn't like the taste of it, but he drank the whole potion anyway before they eased him back into bed.

"Rest my friend."

Athos closed his eyes, and as he could feel the cool cloth gently wipe his forehead, neck and chest, he slowly drifted off. As he returned to the land of the sleeping, she was once again before him. Now dressed in a blood red dress, standing in the manor, hot flames licking the walls while smoke filled up the rooms that once had held his life, his past disappearing in escalating flames.

And there she was, in the middle of it all. Just standing there, holding a torch. Dressed in red and black. Everything was blurry, he couldn't see straight, his mind and senses disobeying him as he had been drinking excessively. Everything was spinning dangerously, the flames licking his feet and arms, the ground disappearing underneath him, the house collapsing on top of him as his life passed him by.

And as he stared at the woman he still loved with every single piece of his broken heart, she raised her hand, and moved the band around her neck to show the permanent scars he had given her.

'The token of your love.

"Whoever loves, loves at first sight." - William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night