[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. ]
[Part of her finds so much relief in that, and she finally, finally, reaches for him, to truly embrace him. He smells different now, like gunpowder and worn leather, and alcohol and smoke, not like he used to, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't.]
[ He's clearly surprised by it, his body stiffening for a moment before he finally relaxes. His arms curl around her to hold her to him, his chin resting at the top of her head. ]
[ He almost says no, has to swallow it down immediately. She is not asking him to be a noble again, she is asking a friend to join her and to vouch for her. He could still accompany her as Athos of the Musketeers and the only people who would know otherwise would keep his secret.
He squeezes her hand, his own touch now rough and calloused with years of fighting. ]
Of course. But I will have to speak to Captain Treville first.
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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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Oh.
Oh, I missed you.
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Oh, Lucy. I am sorry.
I never meant for any of this to happen.
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[She says it into his chest, and feels like she is a little girl again. He could fix all her ailments, then, with a word or a sweet or his presence.]
I wanted to have back what I felt I lost.
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It is not difficult to miss our youth.
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[She looks up at him, and her hand finds his free one.]
Please come with me, please meet this man with me, what if he is cruel, I would think you could help me.
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He squeezes her hand, his own touch now rough and calloused with years of fighting. ]
Of course. But I will have to speak to Captain Treville first.
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[A pause, then.]
I could ask, you know. As a favor, from your king, to give me a set of musketeers, for a period, to go with me. Would you-
[She doesn't know why this is so hard to ask.]
Would that suffice?
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