※※※

Chapter 3

※

"Woman is sacred; the woman one loves is holy."
- Alexandre Dumas -

Sylvie fastened the improvised bandage on Porthos's arm.
"You were lucky he missed," she said.
"Yeah, but hopefully he won't be so lucky to have escaped Athos," the musketeer complained, frowning.
"If anyone can get Grimaud, it's Athos, sooner or later," Aramis remarked, watching his friends, noticing Sylvie's restlessness. The image of Athos's beaten-up face after his recent brutal encounter with Grimaud was etched in her memory like an ugly scar.

The mention of the Captain of the Musketeers strengthened Sylvie's concern. She witnessed how cruel and brutal Grimaud was with her own eyes twice, and despite knowing that Athos was one of the best swordsmen in France, she couldn't mute the alarmed voice in her head. Her eyes kept returning to the entrance to the refugee camp, at which she, Porthos and Aramis were waiting for Athos and D'Artagnan. Just as she finished fixing Porthos's arm, they heard a voice calling from the camp.
"Sylvie!"
Aramis smiled. "At last," he said, looking into the camp entrance.
Sylvie turned her head and recognized a figure approaching them with fast steps. Her usual self-control suffered a sudden lapse, and without thinking, she started running towards the man.
Athos caught her in his arms, finally putting aside the cool mask and allowing himself a moment of vulnerability as he kissed her and then held tight, breathing heavily.
"Are you all right?" they said simultaneously when they pulled apart, oblivious to D'Artagnan passing them by with a smirk.
Sylvie chuckled through a few tears escaping her eyes; she nodded and whispered. "We are."

We are… Athos repeated the wondrous words in his mind, the relief on his face changing into amazement, albeit his head started spinning as he was still processing the shock and subsequent fear he had felt when hearing the news just a while ago.
A father… I'm going to be a father…
His thumbs kept stroking her cheeks while his glistening eyes spoke about his amazement at the miracle he was a part of. But he was still yet to say the words she needed to hear.
"I'm sorry," Sylvie started quietly. "I should have told you…"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Athos interrupted her gently, then kissed her again.
Letting her draw him completely in her embrace, he fought the subconscious urge to immediately carry her somewhere far away, where she and their unborn child would be safe from all danger - away from the wrath of Grimaud, who has yet again escaped.

They suddenly became aware of their surroundings and pulled apart, turning their heads toward their friends, standing nearby smiling, out of their earshot. Athos grazed Sylvie's temple with his lips and hand in hand, they walked to join them.

"I'm sorry," Athos started, with a frustrated shrug. "I lost him. He vanished like smoke."
"Don't apologise." Aramis shook his head. "Grimaud is more slippery than an eel. However, he's badly injured and won't get far, if he survives at all."
"I should have finished him off," d'Artagnan added, disheartened. "But Marcheaux gave me no chance when he attacked me."
"For which you repaid him more than appropriately. At least he is not our problem anymore." Athos remarked.

Sylvie took a step to give d'Artagnan a heartfelt hug. "Thank you," she said.
The young musketeer chuckled. "It was a teamwork."
"I know, I already hugged the others," Sylvie replied with a smirk, which changed into a relieved smile. "And the people in the camp are safe again, at least for a while."
"When Grimaud took you aside, I was afraid he might want to execute you himself," d'Artagnan said, looking at Athos. "I feared I would be late to save you."
"But you weren't, and I'm grateful for that, more than you know," the Captain replied, and his friend noticed some deep emotion reflecting in his eyes and voice.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're both all right," the Gascon added then cheerfully.

Athos smiled. "You mean all three of us." His eyes landed on Sylvie's face.
If Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were ever truly surprised by something, this simple statement made them forget about it. Seeing their amazed expressions, Athos almost wanted to laugh.
"You never said a word!" d'Artagnan cried, with a beaming smile on his face, and gave him a bear hug before congratulating Sylvie in the same way.
Aramis and Porthos followed their friend with big enthusiasm, hugging both parents-to-be.
"I didn't know until now," Athos remarked, shaking his head - it started spinning again.

"I wasn't sure how to tell him," Sylvie admitted, with mild uncertainty on her face, as she expectantly observed the man she loved – he still hadn't said how he truly felt about his upcoming fatherhood.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Athos's face before he looked away from her.
"I'm terrified," he stated at last, making his comrades laugh heartily.
Sylvie's smile faded a little, and a cold shiver went down her spine. What if he doesn't want the child? She started panicking, but Athos brought her out of her misery when he turned back to her.
"And elated too."
This time, his smile lingered, as did his intense look into her dark eyes, watching her own smile grow with pride. Something warm spread in his chest, and Athos surprisingly realised he had never been so… yes, elated. He couldn't take his eyes off her glowing face.

"We're all elated, for both of you," Aramis spoke with genuine joy.
"All three of you," Porthos corrected him.
"No child could wish for better parents," d'Artagnan stated with conviction.
"Or uncles," Porthos added with a grin, raising his eyebrows.
"And if it's a boy we'll teach him how to fight."
"And if it's a girl?" Sylvie jumped in, teasing.
"We'll teach her how to fight off the boys," Athos replied, smiling and making everyone laugh.

Sylvie watched his face for a moment – it lit up like a candle, emerging from the darkness. His voice was gentle when he spoke, but his blue eyes shone brightly from elation. Her eyes glistened momentarily, vividly imagining the picture he had just painted. Quickly, she shook off her emotions and forced herself back to reality.

"I've got to get the supplies to Constance," she said pragmatically, back in action.
Athos's smile faded, worry reappearing on his face as he reached for her hand.
"You need to rest…"
Sylvie squeezed his hand and leaned closer.
"I am with child, Athos, not without use." She sounded uncompromising, although he saw the playful sparks in her eyes before she started to move away from him, smiling.
"I'll come with you," d'Artagnan offered, not only out of the kindness of his heart. One look at his Captain told him everything he needed to know.
The urge to keep Sylvie close emerged in Athos's mind; the image of Grimaud still on the loose, even if seriously injured, haunting him again. His eyes followed her, his hand unwilling to release its hold. Eventually, when she glanced back at him with a smile, he let go of her hand, unable to let her out of his sight, though. However, he was grateful that d'Artagnan would accompany her – she'd be safe with him.

Just moments ago, he came so close to losing her, to losing them… He swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that he might have easily been dead as well. All he could think of was a life without Sylvie and that of their child – an unbearably painful life…
Porthos punched him playfully in his chest, laughing and ready to leave; Aramis was still grinning. Athos suddenly grabbed Porthos by his vest, making both his friends freeze.
"Thank you!" he whispered with a strained voice, his breathing suddenly heavier as he barely managed not to burst into tears. With great effort, he kept his emotional turmoil strictly behind a brick wall when it mattered the most, but now the fragile dam broke, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
"Hey…" Porthos tried to calm him down and gently patted his chest.
Athos glanced back in Sylvie's direction before speaking to his comrade again.
"Your plan saved their lives…" His voice broke as he looked into the eyes of the man who had been through so much with him over the years. His eyes filled with tears; gratitude wasn't an appropriate word to describe what he felt at that moment – he felt blessed.
Porthos nodded, and his hand cradled the back of Athos's skull as they half embraced before setting out to leave as well.

Aramis's gaze followed the Captain for a while before he joined his friends. In all the years, Athos rarely allowed himself to come out of his emotional shell, and if so, it was usually the result of misery, depression or anger, followed by the consummation of indecent amounts of alcohol. This was different, though. The emotion he had displayed now was raw but caused by his deeply moved state of a different kind. It was love that brought tears to his eyes, but this time, after all the trials and tribulations, at last, they were happy tears.

"What are you going to call him?" Porthos asked curiously as all three were walking down the street.
"Or her?" Aramis added with a smile.
Athos chuckled. "Definitely not Porthos," he said, with a smirk, before adding, "or Aramis."
"I see," Aramis teased. "D'Artagnan it is then."

The friends laughed, and just for a moment, they decided to forget about the threat still looming over them and Paris like a shadow of a giant black raven.

※※※

Sylvie pulled back the blanket on the bed she and Athos were to share in their provisional room, one of the few in what used to be Christophe's tavern once. Below them, several wounded cadets and musketeers were resting under the watchful care of Constance, Brujon, Aramis and a few helpers from the refugee camp.

After bringing the supplies to the temporary musketeers' base, she spent a few hours helping Constance, occupying her mind with being useful to those who needed it the most. However, when Athos returned from Louvre after he had reported about the recent events to the Queen, he and Constance both gently persuaded her to have a rest after the unwished excitement of the day. Sylvie didn't protest since she did feel fatigued, not having slept for more than a day, and the prospect of some much-needed sleep was enticing.
She took a long nap and woke up just before dinner time. The atmosphere in the tavern was subdued, still reflecting the tragic events from the night before and the subsequent passing of the young Clairmont, who lost the fight with his extensive burns. Despite an occasional attempt to lighten the mood with a few jokes here and there, the faces of the musketeers bore signs of fatigue and worry. Grimaud hadn't been found anywhere, and that meant only one thing – the danger was not over yet.

"Sleeping beauty is up," Constance's cheerful voice greeted her friend, seeing her standing at the kitchen door.
"I'm sorry," Sylvie apologised, walking over to join her friends, sitting at the table they were sharing at their dinner. "I didn't mean to sleep for so long."
Athos immediately stood up, reaching for her hand.
"You didn't need to get up. I would have brought you food upstairs." His eyes still haven't lost that mildly worried expression when looking at her.
Sylvie shook her head. "I told you, I'm only with a child." She chuckled. "I can't stay in bed until the baby decides to say hello to the world," she scolded him playfully.
He sighed, then snorted. "Of course, I'm sorry… I just…" Words didn't want to come as his eyes bore into hers, wishing her to understand.
"I know," she replied softly with a smile, returning his gentle gaze for a beat.

A polite cough from the table interrupted the tender moment between them.
"Are you going to stand there sweet-talking or are you going to eat?" Porthos teased them from under his eyebrows, chewing on the bone of an especially delicious piece of roast chicken.
The couple chuckled and sat down. Aramis passed on a plate to Sylvie. Only then did her eyes fully register the content on the table, and she opened her mouth – the amount of bowls and plates full of food was staggering.

"The Queen," Aramis remarked, noticing the perplexed expression on her face. "She was very distraught hearing about what happened at the garrison."
Sylvie looked at him in awe. The monarch hadn't stopped to amaze her.
"I told you she cares about people," Constance said, smiling, "especially for those in need. She just never really had much power to prove it."
"Until now," Aramis added, pride warming his heart.

"We are the last ones here to dine tonight. There is plenty of food for a whole army for a few days," Athos said to Sylvie, knowing exactly what she must have been thinking. She finally relaxed and smiled, accepting a large piece of bread he passed her. Her eyebrows shot up, seeing him piling up her plate with double portions of roast meat, cheese and some fruit, she put her hand over his to stop him.
"Athos!" He looked at her, confused. She chuckled. "I'm not a horse."

Everybody at the table laughed; Athos too, before he leaned with his elbows against the table and buried his face in his hands, feeling emotional once again.
"You seriously need to stop panicking, brother," Porthos said, shaking his head. "What will you be doing once the baby starts kicking?"
"Panicking even more," d'Artagnan replied, grinning.

Sylvie's hand travelled into the Captain's hair, gently stroking it. Athos uncovered his face and wiped away a tear before looking at her, smiling and reaching for her hand.
"I know I'm being ridiculous," he admitted. "Being elated and terrified at the same time is not exactly something I know how to deal with."
"Stop it," Porthos interjected, frowning. "You're the Captain of the King's Musketeers! You led a battalion into war. If you can handle regiments, you can handle a baby."

The friends laughed again and continued sampling the delicacies courtesy of the Royal Court. The atmosphere at the table had changed; the shadow of sadness hovering above it before temporarily vanished due to the friendly banter. Suddenly a baby's whimper made Sylvie lift her head from her plate and she finally noticed a young, blonde woman with a gentle, delicate face she didn't recognise sitting next to Porthos and holding a baby in her arms.

"Excuse me," the woman said. "Somebody wants dinner too." Her eyes met with Sylvie's.
"I'm Elodie," she explained, with a smile. Sylvie returned the gesture and introduced herself, but out of politeness didn't ask more, although she was intrigued.
"Of course, you haven't met yet!" Constance cried.
Porthos suddenly realised he omitted Elodie's introduction, enthralled in the amusing talk about the upcoming youngest addition to the garrison. He winced and sighed.
"I'm sorry, I should have introduced you before," he apologised to Elodie, feeling like an ignorant fool.
"No problem. I know you were distracted by your plate," she said, with a smirk. Standing up, with the baby in her arms, she left the table and walked over to a quiet corner nearby.
"She is definitely a keeper," d'Artagnan whispered to Porthos.
"Any decent woman who can tolerate Porthos's eating habits is a keeper," Athos quipped, smirking but not looking away from his plate, eliciting chuckles from everyone at the table.
"Nice one, Captain," Porthos acknowledged, pretending annoyance. "Anything to get you off the hook."

The rest of the dinner was a very pleasant affair, making the friends reminisce of a more peaceful, more carefree times. They all knew the darkness still hadn't left their lives, therefore any, even the shortest cheerful moment was the more worthy and precious to them. But when the time came to separate for the night, the cheer faded, replaced by the troubling reality.

It had been hardly a day since the tragedy in the garrison, only a few days since Treville's passing, and the threat of Grimaud was still alive, not allowing them to stop being vigilant and enjoy the one simple fact – the fact that they were alive.

※※※※※