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Chapter 3

"It is a wise man's duty to save himself for to-morrow,
and not risk everything on one day."
– Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Don Quixote

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For the second time, Athos entered Sylvie's room. He had to smile when thinking of the first time – back then, it was Sylvie's pistol, pointed at him, of which he caught sight before its owner. Was it even possible that only a few weeks had passed since then? And it took only those few weeks that his life had been turned upside down. The newly resurfaced emotions he had buried for years threatened his usually cool and calm equilibrium. The last thing he wanted was to surrender to them again.
This time, you won't fall into the trap; it's only a matter of a little pleasure in a nice company. This time, you won't give all of yourself…

Sylvie shut the door behind her and turned to her guest. Her eyes fleetingly skimmed the small room she had called home for the last four years. The warm afternoon sunrays penetrating the single window on the wall illuminated her living space – a sleeping mattress, pillow and blankets on the floor, a small table with a candle holder and a couple of chairs, a large, old wooden chest, some folded clothes and some bowls, plates, cups, and a couple of clay water jugs. She was about to move to a larger room right next door soon, as a family was moving out after the man found work at one of the town's blacksmiths – a small miracle since the refugees found it nigh on impossible to be treated with respect and fairness outside the walls of their camp.

Suddenly she thought of her childhood home, outside of Paris, before she had to leave it with her father. Although it wasn't the house of a wealthy man, it was cosy and welcoming. Sylvie remembered all the books her father had in several bookshelves he made with his own hands. Every evening, they used to pick one and read it together by the fire, while her mother sat nearby and mended clothes or just listened to them with a warm smile.

"Everything all right?" Athos's soothing voice interrupted her brooding. He had noticed the melancholy and the distant look in her eyes. His penetrating look was too much to bear all at once.
"Yes," she replied quickly, attempting a smile. "Just… memories… of my real home… A long time ago," she added and walked past him, reaching for one of the clay jugs.
"I would offer wine but I haven't seen any for four years so I'm afraid, water will have to do." She was fully back in the present now and her smile was genuine.
Athos noticed no bitterness in her voice, only a mere stating of a fact.
"Water will do just fine," he said, adding one of his characteristic small smiles.

Sylvie poured the clear liquid into two cups and passed him one. Suddenly her usual self-confidence was waning, and her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands. She had never had a man in her private space apart from her father. Since his death, she didn't share it with anyone and used to meet her friends outside, in the camp's alleys. Realising this was a new territory for her was both surprising and unnerving. Only then did she fully comprehend the consequences of her playful invitation of the Captain.

Athos observed her for a moment, strangely liking the less confident and more vulnerable Sylvie. He had no wish to make her uncomfortable, though. Deciding distraction was the best way to settle her nerves, he reached for the book he spotted on the table before.
"Don Quixote de la Mancha," he read on the spine.
Sylvie lifted her eyes and relaxed. "It was my father's," she remarked. "One of the few books we were able to take when we had to leave our home."

Athos nodded and skimmed through the pages. He was well familiar with the novel – in his early adulthood, before becoming a musketeer, he went through quite a voracious reading phase, and the library in his family mansion was full of literary treasures.
"To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!" (1) he quoted, then smiled. "Quite appropriate."
First, her amazement, then the question in Sylvie's eyes when he glanced at her made him chuckle.

"He often fought imaginary enemies, too," he elaborated and cast an eloquent look at her.
"Not all enemies are imaginary. He wanted to help people," she remarked defiantly.
"He craved adventure."
"He was a good man."
"He went mad."
"That bears no meaning. His intentions were good!" Sylvie's patience reached its limits.

Athos visibly enjoyed their exchange, smiling widely.
"Fair enough, I may as well give him the credit for that," he stated gracefully. "And in the end, he understood that the reality is not always what it seems."
Sylvie knew very well he didn't speak only about the self-proclaimed Spanish knight. Suddenly embarrassed about her outburst, she lowered her eyes for a moment and sighed. When she looked at Athos again, she had to chuckle, seeing his amusement.

"I'm sorry," she apologised.
"Don't be," he replied, grinning, making her chuckle. "It's refreshing to have someone else than Aramis to… exchange opinions with."
She shook her head before speaking again. "I guess I find it difficult to see some things differently than I have been used to for so long."
Athos's features softened. "There is time for everything in life. Learning is understanding, whether the good or the bad."

Sylvie couldn't keep her eyes off his face. As always, there was honesty and wisdom but also an almost regal presence, which could easily be seen as that of a king. She was also struck by something else.
"That's something my father would say," she remarked quietly.
Athos lowered his eyes for a moment and smiled. "He was a wise man."

She wanted to reply but words got stuck in her throat; the pain from her father's passing was still lurking in the corners of her mind. She put down the cup and walked over to the window to get a little breathing space before gathering the courage to speak out her next thought.
"No other man but my father has ever been in this room while I've been living here," she spoke into the window, with her back to the Captain.

Athos silently mulled over the implication of her words.
"Have you ever… wished for one?" he asked carefully.
"No," she answered truthfully.
"Why?"
"I suppose no man was… interesting enough."

The Captain smiled, his eyes fixed on her silhouette at the window. He finally decided to move and took a few slow steps to stand behind her. He saw the shiver that went through Sylvie as she felt his proximity.
"Do you want me to leave?" he inquired softly, not wanting to force her.
"No," she replied quietly after a pause.

His hands gently landed on her shoulders, and slowly glided down, all the way to her hands, interlacing fingers with hers. Sylvie sealed their hold, pulling their joined hands around her – it felt as if she needed something secure to hold on to. Athos pressed a soft kiss on her temple.

"Do you still want me to stay?" he whispered, waiting patiently for her reply.
Sylvie turned around and looked straight into his darkened eyes.
"Yes," she whispered as well and refreshed his memory of the first time she had kissed him.

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The night had already cast its wings over the refugee camp when Sylvie turned in her half-awakened state, and her hand groped beside her – finding nothing but a crumpled blanket. She stood up, the long, loose white shirt falling down to her ankles. A quick glance around the room, lit by a solitary candle, told her she was alone yet she knew he hadn't left – his sword and pistol were lying on the table.

Sylvie opened the door and walked out to the corridor until she reached her destination. Walking out of the shack, she spotted the lonesome, standing figure of the man she was looking for. He was fully dressed again, looking out into the distant parts of Paris. His black silhouette reminded her of a magnificent statue.

"Having regrets already?" she teased and stood beside him, her arms folded on her chest.
Athos turned his head to look at her; he was smiling.
"Not about tonight," he replied, mildly confusing Sylvie, but his smile reassured her that his regrets had nothing to do with her. When he didn't elaborate, she decided it was best not to dive into it, for now.

"I half-expected you gone before I woke up," she remarked, with a smirk.
Athos's smile faded a little. "Is that who you think I am?" he asked.
Her look softened and she shook her head. "No, not you."
Was it relief she saw on his face?
"Thank you," he said, and she knew what he meant.
"Thank you," she replied, raising her eyebrows.
Athos chuckled. "You are most welcome."

They both looked at the moon, bathing the rooftops of the shacks around them in soft, white light. They allowed themselves to disappear in their memories of the few previous hours.
It was the night of different firsts for both of them, but it was much more than they both expected before they had met that day. More exciting, more satisfying, more… beautiful.

When Athos felt Sylvie's lips on his for the first time that day, he was prepared, and his response was immediate and genuine. His hand went into Sylvie's hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, closing the almost invisible gap between them. The locked feelings of desire and physical attraction came onto the light, vibrating in his whole body and awakening it from the dormant state that had overpowered him for years. He didn't think about what was to come the next day; all he knew was that he wanted to share those feelings with the woman in front of him there and then, and make it memorable for both of them. However, when he woke up next to her several hours later, he couldn't suppress the alarmingly overwhelming longing for waking up like this the next day, and the day after… and the one after that…

Just as Athos was an experienced yet patient teacher, Sylvie was a quick and eager learner, and they soon found a close and intense connection that surprised them both. She was trying to comprehend why it almost felt as if they weren't two strangers who had just recently met and found each other attractive. There was a strong, inexplicable pull beyond the physical drawing them together, making them want to be as close as possible…

"Are you all right?" Athos asked softly, and Sylvie noticed he was looking at her again, his caring eyes revealing the full meaning of his question.
"I've never been better," she replied with a warm smile, which then turned into a grin. "I bet you heard this often before."
He chuckled but there was a flash of sadness in his eyes. He wanted to reply something, but the words got stuck in his throat. Only once…
"I'm not trying to pry on your… well…" Sylvie suddenly found it difficult to talk about his intimate past; imagining the Captain with other women made her strangely uneasy.

Athos smiled again, this time with genuine pleasure. His hand reached for her face, and his thumb tenderly traced her cheek.
"The past doesn't matter," he whispered, more to himself than to her, his eyes studying her moonlit face. Sylvie tried to read as much as she could in his look but she crashed on an invisible wall preventing her from doing so. On one hand, Athos's eyes were very expressive and gentle, on the other hand, they said, Let's not spoil this moment…

She smiled, leaned into his palm and placed a feather-light kiss into it. The Captain savoured the moment before dropping his hand and sighing.
"I must go," he said, reluctance colouring his voice. "We are choosing new cadets from the latest recruits in the morning. I can't be late." He omitted that he still needed to go through the rest of the notes D'Artagnan left him on the list of new recruits.

Of course, Sylvie thought with a sharp stab of disappointment. But you expected nothing else when you invited him... Or did you? She nodded.
"This is it then," she said with a forced smile, attempting to hide her true feelings and not wanting to sound bitter.
His eyes observed her for a moment; then a small hopeful smile appeared on his face.
"For now?" His question was everything but.
The relief and wide smile on Sylvie's face unexpectedly made his heart leap. He didn't need words for an answer.

Athos walked back inside the shack, returning soon after with his sword and pistol attached to his belt again. He gazed into her eyes longer than he intended to, finding himself lost in those dark pools, warming him somewhere deep inside. He couldn't explain it but where just hours ago he thought he would feel fear and doubt, there was suddenly only peace and calm. He dipped his head and kissed her, his hand holding her head in place. Their lips remained joined for a moment, then Athos pulled away, slowly dropped his hand, and with another smile, he started descending the stairs.

Sylvie watched him walk away into the night until his black figure vanished from her sight. Not once did he turn back but he didn't need to. She instinctively understood that if he did, it would mean something more, more than what he was capable of at the moment. However, her instinct told her just as well that tomorrow was another day. After all, the reality was not always what it seemed…

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(1) Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Don Quixote