Chapter Nineteen
They packed.
And waited.
Waited some more.
And then began to pace.
d'Artagnan, then Porthos, at least, passing each other as they made separate circuits of the sitting room.
Athos retreated to his usual seat by the window.
Aramis withdrew to that private place he could carve out with or without solitude. He collected the drawer of inks and sat to pen a few more sonnets to hold against any future small contretemps he might encounter. Escape came in the form of tiny birds trailing wisps of ribbon and lace they wove into nests tucked into tree branches, luscious woodland bouquets growing out of capital letters, and small forest animals frolicking around the edges as though the poetry nestled in a shaded forest glen.
"I don't think we should have let her off that easy." d'Artagnan, his ire growing with each stretched minute that passed, said woodenly.
Athos stirred himself from his brooding. "What would you have had me do?" He'd been thinking much the same thing. Five men dead, three of his own seriously injured, and he'd let her walk away without so much as a slap on the hand. What had so changed him in the last five years? What had wrought such a difference in his perspective that mercy supplanted justice? Was he wrong to leave Berne without forcing action of some sort? Did he have the right to demand justice for the dead when he'd been the one to murder them?
d'Artagnan stilled. "I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "It's not like she's a soldier subject to military discipline."
Aramis wiped shimmery lavender ink from the nib, set aside his pen and turned upon the chair. "In a way she is, though. The women of the Swiss Confederacy bear much of the burden of keeping things running at home while their men folk are away. That too is a kind of soldiering, though I doubt even they think of themselves in that manner."
"What she did was wrong," d'Artagnan reiterated, his entire posture conveying his sense of grievance.
"What I did was equally wrong."
d'Artagnan swung around. "You defended yourself against armed men. Where's the wrong in that?"
Athos let silence do his work again.
"You didn't have to kill them," the youth admitted, "though how could you know that in the heat of battle?"
"I let anger interfere to such an extent that I did not perceive the situation in its entirety. Five men are dead because of it. I am as guilty as Madam Joos in this affair."
"No French jury would hold you accountable for your actions." Porthos stopped his pacing as well, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest. "There was no malice aforethought in your circumstances. It was the middle of the night, you were attacked, you defended yourself. Madam, on the other hand, conspired to cause harm, if not specifically to people, at least to the negotiations."
"Would a jury of her peers hold her accountable for the fact that five men are dead because she plotted to save the youth of her country? Could she foresee that her plot to sabotage the negotiations would turn into something far more deadly?"
"She should've been able to, she's a soldier's wife, with three dead sons," Porthos countered.
And a maimed husband, Athos put in silently, though he kept the words to himself.
"And if she couldn't foresee it, then her co-conspirator, who most assuredly saw military action, should have warned her."
Athos rose and turned to the window, steepling the fingers of his right hand on the cool glass. "I have tried to think what it might be like to be old and thoroughly used up, of no use anymore to the country you have served your entire life, sacrificed children for, perhaps even one's own vision or limbs or passion ..." He turned to face his brothers. "What might that drive me to do?"
"Empathy is the devil of a bedfellow, but it's what shapes our humanity." Aramis swung back around to his inks. "I am glad to see you employing it in this situation."
Porthos closed the width of room between he and the Gascon and slung an arm around the youth's shoulders. "You're not wrong to desire resolution, youngling," he said affectionately. "But not every situation admits a solution. Sometimes you have to walk away frustrated and perhaps even a bit angry. If you dwell, it will become a festering dark spot on your soul. Learn to let these things go. We did what we came for, now it's time to walk away and leave madam's punishment to whomever gets her in the afterlife."
d'Artagnan sighed. He could hear the imparted wisdom, but did not have the experience yet to understand it. Athos' wife was bothering him too, but he had enough wisdom of his own to know now was not to the time to raise that subject.
"Aramis?" Athos joined Porthos and d'Artagnan, as did Aramis when he turned and saw the intent.
They huddled together, shoulders just touching, and Athos put out a hand to in the inner circle. "I have a whole raft of sins to atone for on this trip. May I make a blanket apology to the three of you and just say how sorry I am that my leadership skills failed so abominably on this mission?"
"I dunno, suppose that depends on whose perspective yer lookin' at it from. I'm thinkin we're alive and not too much worse for wear after gettin' kidnapped by a crazy woman and navigating the aqueducts and a buncha bears. We're goin' home with a capitulation for twice the amount'a troops we were askin' for. I don't know if I can except your version of events, Athos. Regardless ..." Porthos laid his big hand over Athos'.
They ignored the knock on the door as Aramis took d'Artagnan's arm and guided his hand to lay atop Porthos', then layered his palm on the top.
"We're in this together," Porthos said, directing the chorus. "One for all ... and all for one."
"What happened to every man for himself?" d'Artagnan asked, shaking off his morose attitude like a dog shedding water as the quartet broke apart and Athos went to answer the knock.
"Different situations call for different mottos." Porthos grinned. "Get yer stuff, I 'spect this means we'll be leavin' shortly."
Athos was indeed accepting the leather incased capitulation and the missing weaponry. He closed the door and leaned back on it for a second, looking a bit like an angry porcupine sprouting sword points and pistol barrels instead of quills.
Porthos unlimbered the weapons, passing along Aramis' when the marksmen had tidied up the desk and put away the inks, though not without a covetous sigh or two at leaving them behind.
They left the rooms as they had found them, though perhaps they had left their mark as well, for Aramis and Porthos' room smelled of bergamot and cedar and perhaps there was the lingering scent of medicinals in Athos and d'Artagnan's room.
The staff would be delighted with the generous largess they'd left behind as well, and of course, Monsieur le Chein and Mademoiselle la Chatte presented themselves to bid their adieus, stropping d'Artagnan's ankles and slavering slavish wet kisses upon his face when it was presented at their level. Athos, too, received a share of devotion, though he did not have d'Artagnan's appreciation for the wet, slobbery dog kisses.
And then they were on their way, trotting sedately through the town, d'Artagnan lifting his hat with great enthusiasm, to every citizen of Berne who stopped to wave them on their way.
They all pulled up short when Athos stopped suddenly, swinging down with a verve that belied the feverish condition Aramis' knew him to still be in, next to a street urchin of dubious features. The youngster's tongue was darting out to lick a smeared brown substance from his face, along with his grubby hands.
To the surprise of his three companions, Athos hunkered down on his boot heels so he was face to face with the child. "Master Peter, I almost passed you by without acknowledgement. I did not recognize you behind all that chocolate."
The boy grinned hugely. "Best chocolate I ever had, sir, 'cause it was-" he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "smuggled like."
"I should not be encouraging you, I suppose, but contraband is always sweeter, I've experienced this myself. Would your mother allow you to ride with us to the castle, do you think?"
The boy's eyes widened. "She wouldn't care, s'long as'm home by the time she gets back from working."
"Then perhaps we should clean you up a little, I'm not sure if my horse likes chocolate or not." Athos produced a handkerchief and proceeded, to the utter astonishment of the three still mounted and blocking half the street, to clean up the child and stuff away the foul looking cloth. "Here you go." Sliding his hands under the boy's arms, he rose with the slight weight and hefted him into the saddle.
"I see you found your friends," the child said pertly, as he settled himself comfortably.
"I did, in no small part thanks to you. Gentlemen, may I present Master Peter. We met very late Monday night, when he should have been in his bed sleeping. He affirmed that one of you, at least, was still alive, and pointed me in the direction of the Münsterplatz where I found the last of your marker's, Aramis. Master Peter, this is Aramis, the marksmen and healer of our small company, Porthos, whose size alone should inform you of what he's good at, and d'Artagnan, the newest member of our band."
"How come you're not wearing a blue cloak too?" the astute young man craned his neck around to inquire of d'Artagnan, as Athos swung into the saddle behind him and urged the horse forward again.
"Because I'm not a Musketeer." d'Artagnan bowed from the waist.
"Not just yet, he will be though," Porthos said, bowing as well.
"Soon," Aramis added, inclining his head.
"Well, I like your hat, it's got a real pretty feather."
"Merci, monsieur. I like it too."
"I want to be a soldier, just like my da when I grow up. Musketeers are soldiers, aren't ya? That blue cloak is your uniform?"
"It is," Athos agreed as they reached the edge of town and his companions fell in on either side of him.
"Maybe I'll come and be a Musketeer when I grow up."
"Then you will need to ask for Captain d'Artagnan when you come to Paris," Athos informed his passenger. Anyone will be able to direct you to the hôtel he will be in charge of, located on the rue de Tournon in Paris."
Beneath his hat, d'Artagnan blushed fifty shades of pink.
Porthos chuckled, jostling his mount closer to clap d'Artagnan on the back. "By the time the little shaver's grow'd up, I 'spect Athos is right; you'll be in charge of the Musketeers."
"I wonder..." Aramis turned in the saddle the better to observe the effect of their predictive assumptions on the Junge. "Will we have to retire in order to leave room in the garrison for all that conceit?" His grin negated any suggestion of taunting, gentling the observation to companionable teasing.
"Maybe, since I'm not sure the garrison will hold three such self-important people. I will have to retire all but Athos, as he has no conceit to speak of," d'Artagnan shot back without missing a beat.
Porthos gusted a great sigh of relief. "Better," he said, apropos of nothing, though no one needed further translation to understand. Aramis was usually the peacemaker in their small company.
On the Berne side of the river bridge, Athos reined his steed to a halt again and swung down to lift Peter from the horse. He did not crouch this time, but extended his hand to the youngster man to man. "I must thank you again for your assistance, monsieur. Keep that card I gave you and if someday, you do truly want to become a Musketeer, find me in Paris and I will make it happen."
d'Artagnan hopped from his horse as well as Porthos and Aramis sat watching.
"Perhaps you will do me a favor, Master Peter?" d'Artagnan dropped to one knee before the boy. "The hat is a little big for me, I must either hold it on my head for the entire trip home, or lose it on the way to Paris. If you keep it and bring it to me when you are grown, it will serve two purposes. It will keep my hat safe, and I will know you by its delivery and honor the debt we owe you, sir." He held out the hat with both hands.
The boy did not immediately take it, though one hand crept out to slide over the feather, then pet the canted brim. "I just told what'd I'd seen, and the comte already gived me a reward. I don't know as I should take your hat, too, for such a little thing as I did." The eyes that lifted to meet d'Artagnan's held a wealth of longing to possess that hat, but the small hand removed itself and was shoved behind the child's back.
"Please?" d'Artagnan reached for that clenched fist and set the small, still slightly grubby fingers around the edge. "I would be honored."
The uncertain frown was edged out by a glorious smile as longing overcame reticence and the hat changed hands. d'Artagnan guided the hands up to set it on the completely engulfed, small head, tipping it back so he could bask in the bright smile. "If you ask your mother to help you put some leather strings on it, you could tie it on so it doesn't fall off, or wear it hanging down your back."
"I could do that! Thank you, monsieur d'Artagnan, this is real swell. The other boys will be sad they didn't get in on the action!"
"Don't forget, though," d'Artagnan said, rising and putting his hand out for a firm handshake as well, "it's only on loan, you have to bring it back to me."
"I won't," the youth replied reverently, holding on to the brim.
"We have to go, we have a long trip ahead of us, but I look forward to seeing you again in a few years."
"Do me a favor, Master Peter?" Athos gathered in his reins and mounted, firming his grip when his horse attempted a few dance steps.
"Anything!" the youngster enthused, forgetting in his enthusiasm for this new adventure, to keep hold of the hat. In consequence he slapped both hands to the crown.
"Stay out of the aqueduct so you live to come to Paris."
The bright face fell for a moment, before a rueful grin spread across the round countenance. "I can do that."
"Promise?"
"I promise, comte. Mum doesn't like me going in there either. She'll be glad of the promise too."
"d'Artagnan will ask you if you kept it."
"I don't break my promises, sir. I didn't tell a soul about our meeting, just you like you asked. And I won't break this one either."
"Good man." Athos let out the rein allowing his horse to prance forward a couple of steps. "Gentlemen, we must be on the road."
Peter stepped back, d'Artagnan mounted, and with parting grins and waves, the Musketeers were away like the wind.
"Safe journeys, monsieurs!"
The future Musketeer stood holding his new hat and waving until even the dust of their leaving dissipated, then turned and trotted back into town counting up the deniers he would earn charging his friends for an opportunity to wear the hat of a real Musketeer. Well, a soon to be Musketeer anyway.
La Fin
A/N Final Notes: I've purposely posted this rather quickly because I'm ancient and I find myself having to go back and reread to follow complicated stories and I did not want readers to experience that with this story. Because it took a year to write, I was constantly having to reread to figure out where I was, and figure out what came next. While A Good Son had a little bit of a plot, this story required a lot of back filling to make sure all the details added up in the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And I'm very curious to know if the 'villain' was a shock, or did I do a good enough job that as a reader you went - oh, yeah, it all adds up now! I'm hoping the latter, but if it did not, and you were shocked, I need to know that too. As a reader, I don't mind being surprised, but I want to be able to 'see' the steps that led up to the denouement when it does unfold. So please, if you have a few spare moments, share your thoughts with me! It will help me be a better writer.
It's always bitter sweet to come to the end of a story and my time-out-of-time spent with folk who 'get it'. My undying gratitude to Deana, Alyslee, Purplelizzie1, Musketeer Adventure, UK Guest, Beetle Girl, Troy08, Guest, beeblegirl, Tidia, untamed canine, Doubtful Guest, Another Guest, Keesha, Helensg, CaroH, bcblueeyes and Sarah! (Please let me know if I missed you, I didn't not do it purposely, i promise!) I won't be able to reach the 'Guests' again, so please know that every review you posted will be filed under 'forever grateful' and that your schlepping along with me on this journey made my part in it a great deal of fun! To those readers who spent time here without leaving footprints, my gratitude for your time as well! And to those who are registered site users, I still have a number of reviews to respond to, so my fun is not quite over!
Thank you all for being such fun to play with!
Disclaimer - This has been a work of transformative fan fiction. The known characters belong to the BBC, it's successors and assigns. The original characters, and the enormous amount of research done to set the story in another medieval city, belong to the author. No copyright infringement has been perpetrated for financial gain.