(no subject)

[afineseamstress]

It's startling to realize how much he used to think of her.

For more than a year now, Aramis' world has been Porthos, then Porthos and Athos, it's been d'Artagnan and Constance and the friends they've made here, it's been a wedding and the plans for a new home and the hope for a child. It hasn't been her, and when Aramis did think of the Queen, it was as Her Majesty.

Never Anna.

He doesn't love her. Aramis admires her, certainly, he finds her beautiful, but this memory that lives in his heart of her now doesn't match what he remembers. He'd never experienced an ache this sharp for her at home, but now in his dreams it haunts him, a yearning for a woman who is impossible to hold, and a child that's forever removed from him.

The first time it happens, Aramis thinks the infant he dreams of must be Isabelle's.

By the third, Aramis knows it isn't.

As he sits in the kitchen alone, Porthos shooed away for fresh air and a fresh cup of coffee before him, Aramis peers blearily past it to the brandy. He's never found drink particularly soothing, not even after Savoy, but at the moment he will accept anything to calm the turmoil within him.

These dreams he has bleed further past fantasy into memory the more he resists them. Porthos had suggested a doctor when they began, and Aramis is not certain which he prefers - madness, or the certainty that's begun to coalesce. Aramis passes a hand over his eyes, but the image of a child with blue eyes does not fade.

It's certainly not Isabelle's. The boy is Anna's.

And Aramis loves him far too much.

Comments

[afineseamstress]

"Athos."

It is all Aramis can eke out, for that face is not the surprise he had expected, and neither is it the distaste he's dreaded. Athos' expression is resignation, and a weary one at that, and it pushes Aramis well past unease into terror. "Please," he asks, his movements strange to himself when he pushes away his cup, arms sluggish and fingers numb. "Why are you not surprised?"

[somepoorsoul]

“Aramis.” Athos sighs and bows his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest with his mug still clutched in one hand. He hates to see that fear and pain in Aramis’ expression, and sharing what he knows will only make it worse. And yet, he has not forgotten his wish to strangle Aramis for his stupidity, though it has laid dormant for some time.

How could Aramis have been so idiotic? The fury, and distaste, and disappointment, and worry, and love (yes, even love, for he loves Aramis’ damnable all-consuming heart, even when it leads him astray) sweeps over him now, just as it had that fateful morning.

“Because you slept with the Queen, Aramis,” he answers, for there is nothing to do but state the truth.

[afineseamstress]

If Athos' first expression had frightened Aramis, the progression of them now nearly moves him to retch, and he knows what the words will be even as Athos opens his mouth to say them.

"Not madness, then," he says, looking away, for he can't bear the sight of those emotions on that stoic face any longer, and tugs at his own hair. "Far worse. Far worse." Memories, of an act that may well have damned them all.

He closes his eyes, and he can see the mirror of this expression backed by sparse clay walls, feel the presence of someone too light to be a man asleep across his chest. "We fled with her," says Aramis slowly. "To a convent."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos longs to go to Aramis, to wrap him in his arms and press him close until the waves of memory pass. But he is still too angry, too, and he must explain the rest before he gives over to the way his heart aches for the man he loves. “We were attacked,” he says with a quiet nod, “part of the Cardinal’s plot to assassinate the Queen. The convent was fortified, and the nuns loyal and brave.”

He takes a gulp of his coffee, glad it is heavy with brandy. “I found the two of you together the next morning. No one else saw a thing.” Athos isn’t sure Aramis deserves to be reassured in this instance, but he longs to wipe some of that pain from his eyes all the same.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis nods, for as Athos speaks the pieces of it slot together at last in an order that makes sense, and Aramis could feel grateful for the clarity if it were not all so awful.

"I came to Darrow while fishing in the stream," he says, now remembering how the Queen had burnt the fish afterward, how none of them could bear to eat them. "I did not sleep with her, Athos. But I do remember it."

Aramis remembers the escape as well, parting with d'Artagnan and Porthos, the thrill of the Queen atop his own horse - he'd felt so gallant, and Athos is right. He is a fool. He remembers the nuns, too, but something in Aramis shies from them.

"I was weeping," he says, recalling now how the Queen had come to him. "Just before I realized she wanted me to kiss her. But why?"

[somepoorsoul]

Athos can only shake his head. Aramis had not been quite himself that night, it is true, but Athos could not pinpoint the source of the man’s suffering then, and he cannot see it now. Only one memory points to a possible reason, but Athos cannot see the connection. “Some of the assassins broke in and one of the nuns was killed. I believe you found her as she died."

With a sigh, Athos runs a hand over his eyes, and then finally gives into the way his heart aches. He comes to lean against the table beside where Aramis sits, and lightly runs his fingers through Aramis’ hair. “I did not know about the child,” he promises, hoping Aramis knows that he would not keep such a momentous thing from him, not unless entirely necessary.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis cannot help but turn his head against Athos' fingers. It is mercy he is not ready to extend to himself, and as severe as Athos can be, it is more than Aramis feels he deserves from the man. That does not stop Aramis being hungry for it.

"I believe you," he says, but his thoughts are pulled from this comfort as if by lead to the nun. There is a cellar, and a woman in a habit, and brandy only Aramis' own father knew how to make.

"Sangdieu," he exhales, and now he truly might wretch. "Isabelle." Aramis does not wish to believe it, but he can see her blue eyes, fierce as ever even when she lay dying. "I thought I searched every convent. My God, Isabelle."

[somepoorsoul]

“Aramis.” He speaks the name with a voice full of gentleness, for the dangers brought on by the man’s actions are far away, and the sorrow he feels close at hand. Athos cannot bring himself to be harsh. Better understanding Aramis’ unsteadiness at the convent now, his more-than-usually brittle humor, Athos gently brushes his hand down the man’s cheek.

“I am sorry."

[afineseamstress]

"I wanted to find her so badly when I was young," says Aramis, half to himself, but he catches Athos' hand and holds hard, needing an anchor to this better, happier version of the world. "She wanted to be left alone, to be God's, and I brought death right to her door. And then - " he says, halting, "The Queen. I destroyed both my life's and Isabelle's in a single evening, and my child..."

Aramis shakes his head, for it is all too much, and if it weren't for Athos' confirmation it would feel like madness yet. "I never wanted to come to Darrow. I hated it here. I wish I'd known then how much this place has saved me from."

[somepoorsoul]

“You are here now,” Athos says, for once glad that Aramis has found such happiness here, even when it comes at a cost. If the thought of being far from the trials of home soothes him now, Athos cannot begrudge that. Gently, he rubs his thumb over Aramis’ knuckles. “But were you there, you would not have to face any of it alone."

[afineseamstress]

"You would not abandon me?" asks Aramis, but it is not really a question. He simply wants to hear Athos say it, when he already believes Athos would look out for him. The extent of Athos' loyalty only makes the depths of Aramis' mistakes more shameful. "You deserve better than me," he murmurs. "You all do. Now at home, you are all in danger, and the fault is only mine."

[somepoorsoul]

“Now you really do sound like me,” Athos deadpans, sipping his lukewarm coffee. “It doesn’t suit you.” His gaze is steady and gentle as he watches Aramis in his wide-eyed pain. Aramis was foolish, he did put them all in danger, but it did not make Athos love him less then, and it certainly does not now. “Where would I go?” he asks with a twitch of a smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve put me in difficult straights."

[afineseamstress]

"Perhaps not, but this is the first time the results have been so far reaching." Athos is terrible gentle, a rarity that Aramis would normally savor, but now all he can hear is, They'll hang you, and then they'll hang me for letting it happen. Athos had accepted it in the next moment even then, and Aramis shakes his head.

"If I remember that anything has happened to you all because of it - " he begins, but how could he finish that? What could he possibly do to make up for such a transgression? Aramis groans, deep in his throat. "I do not know how to live with this, Athos."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos drops his hand to Aramis’ shoulder and squeezes gently. “You will live with it because you must.” Perhaps it is not the kindest thing to say, but it is a thought that has kept Athos going on more than one occasion. What other choice does any man have, but to accept one’s own actions, no matter how terrible or foolish?

“It would take a foolhardy man indeed to question the Queen’s honor,” he reasons. “You are lucky she is so well loved by so many."

[afineseamstress]

"And the Dauphin so celebrated," Aramis replies, for that is some comfort, even if it is hard to feel now. His son will be forever removed from his arms, but God willing, he will at least be safe.

"Is that what you do?" he asks, lifting his gaze back to Athos. "Endure? My God, Athos," Aramis breathes, heart constricting with sympathy, "Do you feel like this all the time?"

[somepoorsoul]

Athos scoffs to hide his embarrassment when Aramis strikes too close to home. He does not need to think about the wretched creature he can often be, and he will not allow Aramis to fall into despair. Not if he has to hold him back with nothing but his own strength. Instead of answering for himself (he doesn’t dare, and none of this is about him, anyway), he pulls a chair next to the other man’s and sits in it facing him. “Aramis. You are a musketeer. You survived Savoy. You will not waste your time with self-pity over something that happened in another time, and another place. Understand?"

[afineseamstress]

Aramis faces him eagerly. Athos is wise and experienced, and Aramis is hungry for any knowledge that can see him through this. "It is not pity I feel for myself," he says. Aramis' thoughts towards himself are of loathing, but more grief will surely come when this knot that squeezes at his heart unravels.

"For you, for Porthos, I am sorrowful. How will I tell him?" Athos has had a long time to live with this, and he came into their relationship with full knowledge of what Aramis has done, but Porthos is innocent. "I can't bear to hurt him, Athos."

[somepoorsoul]

“Take your time.” Athos can already imagine what he would advise at home, and it pains him to think of the betrayal he would inevitably suggest. At home, the fewer people who knew what Aramis had done, the less danger they would all be in. Here, no such danger exists, but that does not mean that telling Porthos will be easy. Porthos has a habit of taking things personally. “Choose your words carefully, and he will forgive you."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis wants to believe that, to have faith that he will have the chance to make this right, but now all he can feel is his worry. "If he does not," he says, "Or if it takes time, you must look after him," Aramis begs of Athos. "He has already lost so much he ought to have had to make him happy." Aramis' voice breaks, but he clears his throat, determined to see to this much. "If he loses the man he thought I am, he must still have you."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos shakes his head, for he knows just how much of Porthos’ heart belongs to Aramis, and that Porthos will never give that up. Athos could never serve as a replacement, but he is sure he will never have to. “I will,” he promises. “But he will not abandon you. Not over a single indiscretion, no matter how ill-conceived."

[afineseamstress]

"That is my hope," says Aramis, and he is selfish enough to mean it, "But I have never broken his heart before." His eyes heat, and Aramis resists, knowing that if he weeps now he will not stop. Somewhere quiet, he will give Isabelle the tears she deserves, and weep for so many others, but not here in Porthos' own home.

"Now I have a child with another, somewhere in time. That is something he fears - that I would be happier if I had a wife to make a family."

[somepoorsoul]

“Nowhere do you have a child, Aramis.” Even as removed from Paris and the royal court as they are, Athos speaks with a voice full of vehemence. Even here, he cannot acknowledge that the Dauphin is Aramis’ child, not out loud. “Not yet. Here, you will. Not there."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis pales for the passion in Athos' voice, and in his breast that sense of longing blooms afresh. Now that he knows the reason, the nebulous misery of his dreams at last makes sense. He can never hold the child here, and neither is it any different at home, where he must watch from afar and do his best to protect him and the Queen as only their loyal servant.

"Nowhere," he repeats and tries to mean it, but pushes the back of his hand against his mouth to stay a moan. Children are meant to be a joy, even a chief joy in Aramis' life, but every child he brings into being only comes with new sorrow.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos takes Aramis’ free hand in both of his own, squeezing it tightly. “Here, you will.” Then and there, Athos vows that he will never again speak of his own ambivalence on the subject of children, not when Aramis has had not one, but two wrenched from him. Not when his pain is palpable.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis places his other hand over Athos', and this time he cannot stay the sound in his throat, grief and gratitude warring for dominance of the sound, for he knows what the promise costs Athos.

"Thank you," he says through his tight throat. "Thank you for standing by me, Athos, for all of it. I could not bear any of this alone."