[ For a moment he does not understand. He stares at her like she has three heads and is asking him to escort her straight unto the King. But little by little his expression changes. He looks at once understanding and haunted. ]
Lucy.
[ His past so often finds him. He cannot help but wish it would be otherwise. ] What are you doing here? What are you doing alone? Where are your guards? Your handmaidens?
[Her smile happens at once, brilliant, bright. She has missed him, she has missed him so badly, and they told her he must have died, that Thomas would send word if he hadn't, but-
She doesn't start to cry, because she is a much stronger woman than that.]
What am I-
What are you doing here?
[She takes his hands, then, because she must make sure he is real, she must make her he is alive.]
I had thought-
Oh, I never believed them when they told me you had died, no, you couldn't, you wouldn't leave me like that, without saying goodbye, would you?
[ She takes his hands and he goes stiff with it, her gentleness more painful than being run through.
She is a reminder of a life he lived long ago, one where he was loved and could love in return, where his brother was safe and alive and his wife had not taken life from them both. He cannot remember if he wrote to them after the fact or if he simply buried his brother in his tomb and tried to have his wife hung, if he thought of anything at all before fleeing into the night.
Surely rumour should have reached her, and yet --. ]
Who told you -- ? [ his frown deepens, sinking into the lines of his face. ] Lucy, do you not know? [ Could it be that she heard of one d'Athos de la Fere and not the other. Could it have been misconstrued somehow? One dead and one missing. One dead. ]
Thomas is gone. [ His voice is blank, his face hollow. ] He has been some five years past.
[She goes quiet, then, the smile dropping from her face, her hands rising to her mouth. There is horror there, and sadness - she had been mistaken, she had misheard, everyone had been so careful to tell her so little, so she had pieced it together badly-
There are tears in her eyes, then, and she gives a small sob, just the slightest noise of sorrow.]
You could have-
Oh-
[People wandering by are looking now, because she is so upset, and he is so stern.]
[ Her eyes are wet and Athos is struck by the thought that he simply does not know what to do. She is the girl he knew in his youth, when he was Olivier and not Athos, when smiles and comfort came easy to him. Now he is a statue in leather, weary and worn down.
He wants a drink so badly. ]
I am sorry. [ There is little emotion in his voice, it's cut off at the edges. Thomas had been everything to him from an early age and now he lives in a world without him, one where the memories of him are tainted and ruined by what Anne has told him. ]
No, no, it is I who should be apologizing, I have no thought to what you might-
[She turns, like she's not sure if she should go, like she isn't sure what to do. She has been alone before, but suddenly she wants Peter, she wants him to hold onto her and tell her it is all right, as though she were a baby again and not a grown woman at all.]
They want me to marry, and I don't wish to, not yet, and I thought, I just wanted-
[She takes a very careful step back.]
You must feel as there is no good in the world at all.
[ He does not lie, he does not pull any punches. It would be easier if she found her way back to her guards and left him alone. But she was a friend, a relative, a bright spark in an otherwise sad and lonely life and he finds the withered husk of his heart twisting. ]
My room is close by. Perhaps you would like to gather your composure. [ People would stop looking at him like he has hurt her. He could stop feeling as though he had. ]
[She has never expected him to lie, and so the truth is all the more solemn for it. She nods a little, at his suggestion, because she trusts him, because he is one of the most trustworthy men she knows, because she loves him and believes he still loves her, at least a little.]
Please?
[She tucks her hands behind her back, so he can see: she is all grown up.]
[ She looks so solemn and grown up for a moment that all he can do is blink at her, his expression a little lost before he turns on his heel. He does not touch her, but he stays close as though still protective.
It's an easy trek back to the Garrison, he hadn't made it far, and the place is fairly empty. Creaking wooden stairs lead them to the living quarters and he finds his room, pushing the door open quietly. It's sparse. There is a bed. A desk with a bowl and a shaving razor. There is his father's sword attached to the wall and a crucifix on the opposite side. There are many wine bottles scattered around, some empty and fallen in reach of where he certainly would have passed out. Athos snags one of the full ones and a cup and shuts the door behind her. He doesn't want any curious noses poking their way in. ]
[She looks around, taking in the room, and then looks back at him.]
You could have come to me.
[She means it, she does, and she tries not to sound heartbroken that he didn't.]
I would have-
[She couldn't have done anything. She was a child, then, she's only just out of childhood now, and the fact that she starts crying, really crying, proves it.]
[She reaches for his handkerchief and takes it in her hands, and she cries for a while, pressing her hands to her face, like her heart is breaking. This is the first real tragedy in her life, and no one shared it with her, no one warned her, as though a warning would have made it better. How cruel. How cruel, how terrible. To love someone and then have them destroy you.
She's not crying because she's sad, she's crying because she is sad for Athos.]
Oh-
[She sits, then, on his bed, and tries to compose herself.]
How could you have known? Why would she-
Please, please say you have found some solace here, please.
[ Athos leans against the desk, his body tense and unyielding. ]
He discovered the truth about her. That she had lied throughout our romance, that she was a criminal and she had hidden it from me. [ He rubs a hand tiredly over his face and glances towards the fullest bottle. He would quite like to drink himself stupid but propriety and memory are the things that stop him. The same things that stop him from relaying Anne's own take on the matter, that Thomas had forced himself upon her to buy his silence. She does not need to know. Certainly he wishes he could not. ]
I am a Musketeer now. [ It's the one thing that he has. ] I work for the King.
[She stands, and there's anger there, but not at him, not really.]
Even the largest creature, the fiercest lion will take time to recover if cut to the skin, and you were sliced to the heart and the marrow. Do you think that you do not deserve such care and thought? Do you think that you do not deserve such love as mine for something that was not your doing?
[She is not as delicate as all that, not anymore.]
You do not have to return. But you should have sent word to me. I would have kept your secret, and kept it well.
[ There is no emotion there. ] To the people of Pinon. They own the land now. There is no Comte de la Fére. Not any more. [ Because of course he's foolishly thinking of himself as having a title and then not. ] I am a commoner now, Lucy.
[ And he's more content in it than he thought he would be, but there is that. ]
[ He runs a hand wearily over his brow. He isn't good at loving emotion any more. Not now that his heart was so thoroughly burnt to a cinder. ] Tell me of this boy you are to marry. Is he a good man?
[She looks down, and presses her hands to her mouth, unsure for a long moment.]
I have not met him, yet. He is my age, and his portrait is handsome, but one cannot judge a man by his face or his age. I am afraid he will be cruel, or he will not love me. I could not bear a man who takes mistresses.
I would not be the best councillor in favour of it, Lucy. I do not believe in it any longer. [ He'd lived five years believing his wife dead by his own hand. And now he knows she's still alive. ]
I should never have married. But do not let your hand be forced by anyone.
You know as well as I do that there are matters in which young women such as I are bound by what is expected, and not what we desire.
[She curls her hands into small fists, and shakes her head.]
You should have married, to a woman who was kind and good, who would have loved you well. What you did not deserve was to find a snake where there should never have been one.
It's wrong. [ His opinions have changed. He's long lived a life among both the noble and the poor. He does not believe in duty being forced by blood. ] You should marry because it is what you want, not because it is expected.
[ He does not respond to the rest of it. Anne loves him still, and he --. Well. ]
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Lucy.
[ His past so often finds him. He cannot help but wish it would be otherwise. ] What are you doing here? What are you doing alone? Where are your guards? Your handmaidens?
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She doesn't start to cry, because she is a much stronger woman than that.]
What am I-
What are you doing here?
[She takes his hands, then, because she must make sure he is real, she must make her he is alive.]
I had thought-
Oh, I never believed them when they told me you had died, no, you couldn't, you wouldn't leave me like that, without saying goodbye, would you?
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She is a reminder of a life he lived long ago, one where he was loved and could love in return, where his brother was safe and alive and his wife had not taken life from them both. He cannot remember if he wrote to them after the fact or if he simply buried his brother in his tomb and tried to have his wife hung, if he thought of anything at all before fleeing into the night.
Surely rumour should have reached her, and yet --. ]
Who told you -- ? [ his frown deepens, sinking into the lines of his face. ] Lucy, do you not know? [ Could it be that she heard of one d'Athos de la Fere and not the other. Could it have been misconstrued somehow? One dead and one missing. One dead. ]
Thomas is gone. [ His voice is blank, his face hollow. ] He has been some five years past.
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There are tears in her eyes, then, and she gives a small sob, just the slightest noise of sorrow.]
You could have-
Oh-
[People wandering by are looking now, because she is so upset, and he is so stern.]
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He wants a drink so badly. ]
I am sorry. [ There is little emotion in his voice, it's cut off at the edges. Thomas had been everything to him from an early age and now he lives in a world without him, one where the memories of him are tainted and ruined by what Anne has told him. ]
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[She turns, like she's not sure if she should go, like she isn't sure what to do. She has been alone before, but suddenly she wants Peter, she wants him to hold onto her and tell her it is all right, as though she were a baby again and not a grown woman at all.]
They want me to marry, and I don't wish to, not yet, and I thought, I just wanted-
[She takes a very careful step back.]
You must feel as there is no good in the world at all.
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[ He does not lie, he does not pull any punches. It would be easier if she found her way back to her guards and left him alone. But she was a friend, a relative, a bright spark in an otherwise sad and lonely life and he finds the withered husk of his heart twisting. ]
My room is close by. Perhaps you would like to gather your composure. [ People would stop looking at him like he has hurt her. He could stop feeling as though he had. ]
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Please?
[She tucks her hands behind her back, so he can see: she is all grown up.]
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It's an easy trek back to the Garrison, he hadn't made it far, and the place is fairly empty. Creaking wooden stairs lead them to the living quarters and he finds his room, pushing the door open quietly. It's sparse. There is a bed. A desk with a bowl and a shaving razor. There is his father's sword attached to the wall and a crucifix on the opposite side. There are many wine bottles scattered around, some empty and fallen in reach of where he certainly would have passed out. Athos snags one of the full ones and a cup and shuts the door behind her. He doesn't want any curious noses poking their way in. ]
Would you like a drink?
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You could have come to me.
[She means it, she does, and she tries not to sound heartbroken that he didn't.]
I would have-
[She couldn't have done anything. She was a child, then, she's only just out of childhood now, and the fact that she starts crying, really crying, proves it.]
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[ He closes his eyes for a moment before pulling a handkerchief from his belt pouch. ]
I could not have, Lucy. Because Anne was the one who killed him. I could not have come to anyone. I had to find my own way.
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She's not crying because she's sad, she's crying because she is sad for Athos.]
Oh-
[She sits, then, on his bed, and tries to compose herself.]
How could you have known? Why would she-
Please, please say you have found some solace here, please.
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He discovered the truth about her. That she had lied throughout our romance, that she was a criminal and she had hidden it from me. [ He rubs a hand tiredly over his face and glances towards the fullest bottle. He would quite like to drink himself stupid but propriety and memory are the things that stop him. The same things that stop him from relaying Anne's own take on the matter, that Thomas had forced himself upon her to buy his silence. She does not need to know. Certainly he wishes he could not. ]
I am a Musketeer now. [ It's the one thing that he has. ] I work for the King.
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[She hopes he is finding something, that he has someone to keep him company.]
I know it is a small thing, but I came because I love you still, and still, even hearing all this.
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[ He says it vehemently and then winces, his inward anger too much for someone he sees as delicate. ]
I have missed you, Lucy. Do not think that I forgot you. But I could not return. Not to that life, not after everything. I am making amends here.
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[She stands, and there's anger there, but not at him, not really.]
Even the largest creature, the fiercest lion will take time to recover if cut to the skin, and you were sliced to the heart and the marrow. Do you think that you do not deserve such care and thought? Do you think that you do not deserve such love as mine for something that was not your doing?
[She is not as delicate as all that, not anymore.]
You do not have to return. But you should have sent word to me. I would have kept your secret, and kept it well.
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[ There is no emotion there. ] To the people of Pinon. They own the land now. There is no Comte de la Fére. Not any more. [ Because of course he's foolishly thinking of himself as having a title and then not. ] I am a commoner now, Lucy.
[ And he's more content in it than he thought he would be, but there is that. ]
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[She is almost yelling it.]
It was not your title I loved, Olivier!
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I am sorry.
[ He runs a hand wearily over his brow. He isn't good at loving emotion any more. Not now that his heart was so thoroughly burnt to a cinder. ] Tell me of this boy you are to marry. Is he a good man?
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[She looks down, and presses her hands to her mouth, unsure for a long moment.]
I have not met him, yet. He is my age, and his portrait is handsome, but one cannot judge a man by his face or his age. I am afraid he will be cruel, or he will not love me. I could not bear a man who takes mistresses.
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I would not be the best councillor in favour of it, Lucy. I do not believe in it any longer. [ He'd lived five years believing his wife dead by his own hand. And now he knows she's still alive. ]
I should never have married. But do not let your hand be forced by anyone.
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[She curls her hands into small fists, and shakes her head.]
You should have married, to a woman who was kind and good, who would have loved you well. What you did not deserve was to find a snake where there should never have been one.
I would have wished that for you.
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[ He does not respond to the rest of it. Anne loves him still, and he --. Well. ]
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[She looks at the door, and then at Athos.]
Do you wish me to leave?
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No, I do not wish it.
[ He has missed her. ] Can you not speak with your brother about this? Would he not listen?
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