Fic: Three Days in Hell, Part Deux
OMG how is it going to end?!!!!
It was quite clear the following morning that no one had, in fact, slept a wink since the incident by the lake the previous night. D’Artagnan was pale as a ghost, Athos seemed to have begun to gray at the temples, and Aramis had not paid the slightest attention to his toilet. Even Porthos’s eyes were swollen and rimmed with dark circles. Since all of them were up early, having mostly never returned back to bed, the cavalcade headed back to Paris with the first rays of dawn, allowing them to reenter the city just as the sun was setting.
Knowing that they were expected at the captain’s quarters that night, the four friends had decided to dedicate an hour to making themselves presentable again, and had parted at Pont de Nesle, heading in the opposite directions, towards their lodgings.
Athos had mounted the steps to his apartment with the absent air of a man who no longer lived there. He stared at the door, blankly, while Grimaud opened it and carried what was left of their provisions inside. The musketeer walked pensively up to the dresser, upon which he kept the jeweled casket, so often remarked by his friends, yet unmentioned, took the key from around his neck and unlocked the secret chest. He dumped the contents onto the bed, rummaged among them, and then, picking out two pieces of paper from the pile, he put the rest back into the chest and relocked it. He quickly changed out of his riding clothes into his musketeer’s tunic, tucked the two pieces of paper into his doublet, and quit his apartment in the direction of rue Servondoni.
Before he even got around to knocking on the door, it had swung open, and Aramis appeared, standing on the landing, also dressed in his uniform and smelling somehow resplendent and not at all like a man who had spent the last three days on horseback. Aramis had leaned back against the doorframe and crossed his arms on his chest.
“It is my incubus, arriving just in time,” he remarked.
“In time for what?” asked Athos.
“I suppose to have it out with me before we are to meet the captain,” Aramis responded, not giving any indication that he would be asking the other man in.
“I wanted to show you something,” Athos said, leaning on the other side of the wall. Aramis indicated his consent with a slight movement of his eyebrows and Athos had removed the two folded pieces of paper from his doublet and handed one of them over to his friend. Aramis scanned it, silently, and moved out of the doorway.
“Get in here,” he muttered, his back turned to Athos, as he moved inside and approached a small table on which several candles were lit. Finally, he lifted his eyes to Athos and asked, “Why haven’t you destroyed this?”
“I don’t know,” Athos confessed.
“This is your marriage agreement with her.” Aramis stated, extending the piece of paper back towards his companion.
“I know what it is.”
“Athos, you are a sentimental fool,” Aramis offered, shaking his head at his friend who did not contradict him.
“If that’s what you think because I kept that, wait till you see this,” Athos added with a smile and handed the second piece of paper over to be examined.
Aramis opened it and scanned it quickly as well. His hand trembled a little and he reached out towards the table to brace himself against it. He had seen the letter before, in fact, in a different lifetime, he had written it.
My dear Athos,
It is in the depths of deepest despair, and yet, indescribable joy, that I am writing to let you know that I have decided to take your advice and abandon the priest’s tabard in favor of a musketeer’s tunic. Truth be told, I am terrified. But I feel that as long as you are with me, I shall have nothing to regret of my decision for I know you would not lead me astray.
Yours,
d’Herblay (perhaps for the last time)
“My, what a fool I was,” Aramis sighed and Athos gave him a sad smile in return.
“It wasn’t like that, in the beginning,” he mumbled.
“You mean you cared for me like a son?” Aramis smirked.
“Don’t.”
“I’m going to burn one of these,” Aramis declared suddenly, seeming to shake something off, “And I shall give the other one back to you.” Athos gave him an inquisitive look. Aramis quickly turned to the table and set the marriage agreement on fire. He held it until it burned his fingers and then he dropped it on the floor and let it disappear into cinders. “This belongs to you,” he said, turning to Athos, and extending the letter to him with a shaking hand. “It’s always belonged to you,” he added, “like my heart.”
“Aramis…” Athos had begun to say something, but trailed off, not finding the right words. He took the letter and hid it again in the folds of his clothes.
“If you want to say something, now would be a good time to tell me that whatever is left of your heart will forever be mine,” Aramis suggested, helpfully. “Or that you’ll always save a very special place for me in your own personal hell. Or that you’ll surely die if I were to leave you, that would be a nice touch…”
“Yes,” Athos interrupted him. “All those things and more.”
“There is no more,” Aramis said, with a tinge of melancholy, putting his head on his friend’s shoulder. “There’s only… the siege… and then… maybe prison?”
“There is always tonight,” Athos whispered and put his arms around his lover, inhaling his intoxicating scent one more time.
Perhaps Aramis was right. Perhaps there really was no more. But at that particular moment, standing in that small room that still smelled of ashes, Athos thought that it wasn’t so bad after all: coming home.
It was quite clear the following morning that no one had, in fact, slept a wink since the incident by the lake the previous night. D’Artagnan was pale as a ghost, Athos seemed to have begun to gray at the temples, and Aramis had not paid the slightest attention to his toilet. Even Porthos’s eyes were swollen and rimmed with dark circles. Since all of them were up early, having mostly never returned back to bed, the cavalcade headed back to Paris with the first rays of dawn, allowing them to reenter the city just as the sun was setting.
Knowing that they were expected at the captain’s quarters that night, the four friends had decided to dedicate an hour to making themselves presentable again, and had parted at Pont de Nesle, heading in the opposite directions, towards their lodgings.
Athos had mounted the steps to his apartment with the absent air of a man who no longer lived there. He stared at the door, blankly, while Grimaud opened it and carried what was left of their provisions inside. The musketeer walked pensively up to the dresser, upon which he kept the jeweled casket, so often remarked by his friends, yet unmentioned, took the key from around his neck and unlocked the secret chest. He dumped the contents onto the bed, rummaged among them, and then, picking out two pieces of paper from the pile, he put the rest back into the chest and relocked it. He quickly changed out of his riding clothes into his musketeer’s tunic, tucked the two pieces of paper into his doublet, and quit his apartment in the direction of rue Servondoni.
Before he even got around to knocking on the door, it had swung open, and Aramis appeared, standing on the landing, also dressed in his uniform and smelling somehow resplendent and not at all like a man who had spent the last three days on horseback. Aramis had leaned back against the doorframe and crossed his arms on his chest.
“It is my incubus, arriving just in time,” he remarked.
“In time for what?” asked Athos.
“I suppose to have it out with me before we are to meet the captain,” Aramis responded, not giving any indication that he would be asking the other man in.
“I wanted to show you something,” Athos said, leaning on the other side of the wall. Aramis indicated his consent with a slight movement of his eyebrows and Athos had removed the two folded pieces of paper from his doublet and handed one of them over to his friend. Aramis scanned it, silently, and moved out of the doorway.
“Get in here,” he muttered, his back turned to Athos, as he moved inside and approached a small table on which several candles were lit. Finally, he lifted his eyes to Athos and asked, “Why haven’t you destroyed this?”
“I don’t know,” Athos confessed.
“This is your marriage agreement with her.” Aramis stated, extending the piece of paper back towards his companion.
“I know what it is.”
“Athos, you are a sentimental fool,” Aramis offered, shaking his head at his friend who did not contradict him.
“If that’s what you think because I kept that, wait till you see this,” Athos added with a smile and handed the second piece of paper over to be examined.
Aramis opened it and scanned it quickly as well. His hand trembled a little and he reached out towards the table to brace himself against it. He had seen the letter before, in fact, in a different lifetime, he had written it.
My dear Athos,
It is in the depths of deepest despair, and yet, indescribable joy, that I am writing to let you know that I have decided to take your advice and abandon the priest’s tabard in favor of a musketeer’s tunic. Truth be told, I am terrified. But I feel that as long as you are with me, I shall have nothing to regret of my decision for I know you would not lead me astray.
Yours,
d’Herblay (perhaps for the last time)
“My, what a fool I was,” Aramis sighed and Athos gave him a sad smile in return.
“It wasn’t like that, in the beginning,” he mumbled.
“You mean you cared for me like a son?” Aramis smirked.
“Don’t.”
“I’m going to burn one of these,” Aramis declared suddenly, seeming to shake something off, “And I shall give the other one back to you.” Athos gave him an inquisitive look. Aramis quickly turned to the table and set the marriage agreement on fire. He held it until it burned his fingers and then he dropped it on the floor and let it disappear into cinders. “This belongs to you,” he said, turning to Athos, and extending the letter to him with a shaking hand. “It’s always belonged to you,” he added, “like my heart.”
“Aramis…” Athos had begun to say something, but trailed off, not finding the right words. He took the letter and hid it again in the folds of his clothes.
“If you want to say something, now would be a good time to tell me that whatever is left of your heart will forever be mine,” Aramis suggested, helpfully. “Or that you’ll always save a very special place for me in your own personal hell. Or that you’ll surely die if I were to leave you, that would be a nice touch…”
“Yes,” Athos interrupted him. “All those things and more.”
“There is no more,” Aramis said, with a tinge of melancholy, putting his head on his friend’s shoulder. “There’s only… the siege… and then… maybe prison?”
“There is always tonight,” Athos whispered and put his arms around his lover, inhaling his intoxicating scent one more time.
Perhaps Aramis was right. Perhaps there really was no more. But at that particular moment, standing in that small room that still smelled of ashes, Athos thought that it wasn’t so bad after all: coming home.