Title: The Home Front
Warning: Death of a female character
Notes: This is inspired by a story my grandmother told and so I said, 'what if...' and this is what came of it. Thank you for those following, reading, reviewing and favoriting. I am amazed that people read my tangents of thoughts. Thank you.
They stood with hats in their hands as they fidgeted by the doorway. No one had made an effort to knock yet as once the door opened there would be a permanence they could no longer deny. However, they were noticed as Constance swept the door open, Alex her ever present shadow clung to her skirt.
Always a smart woman she noticed their demeanor and missing husband."D'Artagnan?"
When they did not answer her eyes filled. "Please?" She choked.
"Constance-" Aramis bundled her into his arms while Alex pulled his mother's skirts.
Porthos reached out to the toddler. "Climb up, Lad." The boy smiled as he leveraged himself to make it to the large man's back.
"Port!" Alex exclaimed. "Go like pony," he ordered oblivious to what was happening and who he had lost.
The large man did as he was asked and galloped into the sitting room where Athos and Aramis had forced Constance to sit.
"What happened?" There were tears still, but some calming.
Athos looked in the distance, shook his head then brought his blue eyes to rest on Constance. "The fighting was thick and we were separated. I…We tried to get to him."
"The Spanish overtook him." Aramis was sitting by Constance's side.
Constance gripped her hands and brought them to her chest as if she was praying. "He could be a prisoner. He's still alive. I know it."
"We saw him fall." Porthos interrupted the ramblings.
They saw d'Artagnan swarmed by the Spanish, fighting, faltering until he was enveloped. When they had regrouped with reinforcements all the bodies had been cleared- Spanish and French gone.
"Papa? Where's Papa?" Alex pulled Porthos's hair.
Aramis gave a watery smile. "And the Spanish are not known for treating their prisoners…"
"We looked for him. I couldn't spare any more men…" Athos choked on his last words and went silent as his voice evaporated.
Constance nodded, then took in a gasping breath. "What am I going to do without him? I love him. I want him back."
"Where's Papa?" Alex started crying when no one answered him.
(())
They visited as much as possible, providing support as did the Queen with allowing Constance to serve with an ample salary beyond her position. Aramis felt the calling to the priesthood a year later with promises to write and visit. Porthos remained as Athos's Lieutenant. It was under the larger man's watchful eyes he saw the growing feelings between his Captain and Constance.
Porthos gave them alone time as much as possible. It seemed the Queen also supported this idea and often had Athos escort Constance on her business. Aramis had been informed. In fact, Porthos was concerned about d'Artagnan's memory. The priest encouraged the match; their fallen friend would have wanted only the best for Constance. D'Artagnan would have approved as Athos being the best man for his widow.
(())
It was Athos who was slow to understand his attraction and feelings. Mourning together and keeping d'Artagnan's memory alive had moved to companionship, sharing the events of the day.
"Pere, I want to see." Alexandre pulled on Athos's leg as the older man went ashen, taking a step back instead of taking the child up on his shoulders as the four year old wanted from his father.
"Constance, I did not mean…" Athos did not want to replace d'Artagnan as Alexandre's father. He was watchful of the boy and cared for him.
The widow brushed a hand through her son's hair. "Shhh. I know. Truly, there is not a better man. When he is older he will understand. We'll explain it to him."
We. They. There was a future with Constance and Alexandre that Athos had never seen, believing he was honoring his friend by watching over d'Artagnan's wife and son. However, they were a family, an unintentional one, but created nonetheless from adversity. Athos felt a little embolden and took a step into Constance's space with Alex on his shoulders happy with his view.
She cocked her head and gave a shy smile. "D'Artagnan had begged me to show courage. Do we continue as friends or something more?"
"Would you accept something more? I am not d'Artagnan. I will never be. My vices are too great, but I would do my best." Milady was reported as dead, and Athos considered it true allowing him to freely marry.
Constance knew his faults, his past. She looked up at Alexandre and answered with a smile. "I accept."
(())
A found cloak, worn but still serviceable boots, and almost five years later d'Artagnan made his way into Paris. His first inclination was to go to see his beloved Constance, which he dismissed as too presumptuous. His next thought was the garrison, but there was doubt there on what he would find so instead he found a room where he started to make some inquiries on his friends.
D'Artagnan did not know how he survived the news. Perhaps it was the numbness that came over him or the innate will to survive. He would not die of a broken heart just as he did not die from captivity in a Spanish prison.
Spying, he saw Constance with his strapping boy Alexandre and another child tied to her skirts while her belly had the swell of another baby. Athos's children, the Captain of the Musketeers was father to Alexandre and married to Constance.
There was anger at the unfairness of it all. Despair at the quiet happiness he saw between the two as Athos came home to kiss his wife before giving his attention to his adoring son and daughter with another on the way. D'Artagnan's life had been interrupted then taken over by his best friend, brother in arms.
Five years was a long time to hope for d'Artagnan's return. He learned that Porthos was still in the city, married to Alice and occasionally helping the Musketeers although he had retired a year ago. D'Artagnan determined a written missive was appropriate as a start to set up a meeting.
Porthos was waiting for him at the Swan earlier than the arranged meeting time. Although the five years in captivity had not been kind to the Gascon, Porthos recognized him immediately and did not relinquish his hug until d'Artagnan complained about the inability to breathe.
"You know, don't ya?" Porthos sat down, his clothes now that of rich merchant, less of a soldier.
D'Artagnan nodded; of course his friend understood the circumstances. "I've seen them. They haven't seen me. I think I need to keep it that way."
Surprisingly, Porthos did not disagree. "It's not fair to you, lad, but I don't see another way that doesn't cause too much hurt for everyone. Constance can't have two husbands and they have two children. . ." Porthos puttered off. "Is Aramis going to be told?" He used the wine glass to gesture.
"I'd like to visit him." D'Artagnan had determined at least two of his friends needed to know, especially if he wanted to be kept apprised of Alexandre and Constance.
Porthos nodded; seemingly relieved he was not the sole secret keeper. "What are you going to do?"
D'Artagnan poured himself another glass. "Stay away from Paris. I will go to Venice. My mother was Venetian and taught me some of the language that's similar to Spanish." He drank a large gulp trying to get the taste of disappointment and regret to leave him at what being a soldier had cost him. "If ever Alexandre, Constance or Athos need me, then I ask you to tell me. Maybe someday I can be reunited with them. What news can you tell me of Alex and what news of you?"
Porthos told d'Artagnan about his headstrong, spitting image son whom they spoiled, but was still good hearted. It was everything a father would want to hear about his son, and d'Artagnan was thankful that Athos had stepped in. "She mourned you. We all did. It was you that brought Athos and Constance together. We thought you would approve, smile down on them is what Aramis said." Porthos reached out to put his hand over d'Artagnan's resting one. "You haven't been forgotten."
(())
Twelve years after d'Artagnan appeared at the monastery, Aramis did not expect to see him again in these circumstances, hidden in the distance at Constance's funeral while Athos and the children mourned her by the grave.
Returning with Athos back to the home he shared with Constance, Aramis was grateful that Alice had taken the children to visit the palace. "Athos, can you sit for a moment?"
"Where are Simone and Charles?" Athos sat in the chair with exhaustion, only noticing that his children were not by his side as they had been attached to him the whole week. Seventeen year old Alexandre remained, trying to be stoic and failing with his red rimmed eyes.
"They are with Alice and Henri," Porthos reminded him that they had gone off with his wife and son. "Brother, we have a matter to discuss with you."
Athos roughly put his hand through his graying hair. "Can it wait?"
The priest wondered if Athos would crawl into a bottle once more. Constance had been a strengthening force to the Captain of the Musketeers. Aramis pressed on,"Towards the end when Constance's health was fading I send a letter to Venice." Aramis gestured to Porthos to the entrance where d'Artagnan was waiting. "The letter was answered in person, but too late."
Athos looked up from his slumped position. "I don't understand." It had been a short illness with Constance fading quickly.
"I sent the letter to d'Artagnan." Aramis let his words settle for a moment. "Twelve years ago he made his way back from hellhole of Spain. He found you and Constance married with children and decided it was best if he remained dead."
The Captain was startled, but looked to his adopted son as if to provide comfort. "Alex, why are you not surprised?"
Porthos, and Aramis from afar, were doting uncles, but they had made the decision to tell the boy on his fifteenth birthday. They had arranged a small adventure away from Paris and there gave him the letters his father had been writing to him, which Aramis was safekeeping. "My uncles told me the truth of it all two years ago. We've been writing. Pere, he's here to pay his respects."
Athos stood up, still with a slump of mourning about it, but with some determination. "Let him in."
Porthos escorted d'Artagnan into the room. Still in his traveling clothes and eyes shimmering he started, "Athos-"
Athos enveloped him into a hug. "The only peace I had was the thought she had been reunited with you. We will have to seek that peace together it seems. I am so sorry, d'Artagnan for your loss."
They stood in that fierce hug with tears flowing easily until finally breaking apart, clearing their throats of emotion.
Alexandre stepped forward. "Papa?"
"My God, you have grown into a man." D'Artagnan kissed his son then hugged him.
Alexandre, the spitting image of young d'Artagnan remained standing between this adopted and biological father as they took seats at the table with Porthos and Aramis joining them.
Aramis wiped his eyes. "Constance would be disappointed in this un-Musketeer like display of emotions."
"She would have slapped you," Porthos commented.
D'Artagnan nodded. "She was always blaming you."
"She requested him specifically to conduct her service," Athos added. "She wanted a Musketeer send off."
They all laughed a bit. Constance did think of herself as a Musketeer, and they teased her for it.
"Did she keep up her sword work?" D'Artagnan asked, then directed himself towards his son. "She liked to say she bested me, but I let her win."
Athos nodded. Aramis remembered the stories too, it was a reason he was slapped as he had defended d'Artagnan. "Did you ever marry?"
Aramis realized that perhaps he should have given Athos more information before d'Artagnan had entered.
However, d'Artagnan was willing to talk. "I had my work, then a piece of Alexandre. It had to be enough. I wish she had lived and you had more years together. The world is lessened without Constance in it."
"You are in Venice?" Athos picked up on the red and gold crest.
"Yes, I serve the duke there."
"Will you return to France?" Alexandre's voice had a longing in it of the loss of one parent.
"You have a barony, posthumously and kept for Alexandre until he reaches his maturity, but it is income producing. It is just outside of Paris," Athos explained. The King had wanted to reward his champion's service.
"Please, Papa, you could live in France, be a Musketeer once more."
"A Musketeer?"
"You're still young. The King has heard stories and has shown an interest in the resurgence of the Musketeers." King Louis had passed and the Queen was the regent, but that would soon be ending with Louis entering his majority. The Musketeers still served the crown, but with fewer adventures or so it seemed to Aramis. Athos had often described it as glorified guard duty.
Alexandre and his good friend, Louis had grown up with stories about the bravery of the inseparables. Alexandre saying that one day he would be Captain of the Musketeers. It warmed Aramis to see his son and d'Artagnan's son were loyal friends. "You do not have to make a decision tonight."
(())
D'Artagnan did return to France, and served with Athos until he retired to the manor house owned by d'Artagnan with his daughter and son. Athos visited court frequently as an adviser to the newly crowned King. D'Artagnan gained the respect of the men and King named him the next Captain, duly impressing his son who hoped to continue like his fathers.