The True Meaning of Sunsets- Day 1: Sunset
Title: The True Meaning of Sunsets
Author: afleur_de_lis
Prompt #: Prompt 1: Sunset
Prompt table: Table E
Fandom: d'Artagnan romances
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing: Slight Constance/d'Artagnan, but mostly d'Artagnan
Genre: tragedy/angst
Word count: 1441
Disclamer: Dumas' works are in the public domain
Summary: To somebody grieving over the loss of somebody they love, something that they once thought beautiful becomes contorted and dark. D'Artagnan finds himself going mad by loss.
He watches the sunset without actually seeing it, though his eyes are open and they are staring directly at the fiery star as it descends the night sky, he sees none of it. He doesn't notice the sun's vibrant red or the hues that appear like fire across the heavens, he ignores the beauty of it all and stares out with a vacant expression.
How could something so beautiful represent something so evil? He questions himself as he feels the last warmth of the sun on his face before the cold air of the night plays with his hair and caresses his face, and he finds that it taunts him like a lover, gently touching him with soft hands before disappearing for good.
Just like her.
He laughs bitterly at the thought without quite knowing why. If he were like most men, he would have thought that Constance's disappearance was nothing more than a game that she would play in order to test out how much he truly loved her. However, deep down he knew that something was horribly wrong and that the rescue mission would save more than a chance of marriage with the woman he loves; he knows that her life is in danger and he did everything in his power to save her from a tragic fate.
The realisation that he failed her crashes down upon him like the destructive forces of a harbour wave, and he finds that he can't breathe or move. However, he can still think, and he finds that his thoughts are dark and frightening.
Constance is dead.
He failed to save and protect her.
She was killed by a woman whose deadly vengeance should have been turned on him, not an innocent woman who did nothing.
As the face of the beautiful Milady de Winter flashes through his mind, he picks up a rock from the balcony's ledge, one that seems to have fallen off of the inn's face, and he threw it as hard as he could in the direction of the street. He snarls as he picks up another as thoughts of Milady run through his head, and he throws it too. Over and over again, he picks up rocks and throws them over the balcony, envisioning the face of the viper as he drives home a blade to her heart.
"What does the sunset mean to you, d'Artagnan?"
He stops as he is about to throw the ninth rock... or is it the eleventh? He does not remember, he loses count when Milady's icy blue eyes refuse to leave his mind, and he finds that he longs to destroy her the same way she's destroyed him. For a wild moment he thinks that Constance came back to him and he looks around, hopeful and dazed- but she isn't there. How could she be when Milady murdered her in cold blood? Yet, why was he hearing her voice, spoken so clearly that he thinks that she's right beside him?
"Look at the sunset and tell me the first thoughts that come to your mind."
His heart shatters when he hears her voice, knowing that he will never see her again, but forever be haunted by her memory. He yearns to see her beautiful face, to touch her and to feel her touch upon him, and he finds himself going mad with longing.
Then suddenly he feels her hands upon him, touching him gently upon his face and arms. It's just the wind! His mind is screaming, she isn't here- she's dead, lying in a common grave within a convent's cemetery. So why is it that he hears her? Why can he feel her soft hands upon him as if she were here?
A blinding flash of red forces him to stop in his struggles, and momentarily confused and sightless, he gazes out towards the vibrant colour. For the first time that evening, he sees the sunset and in awe he watches it as it disappears into the horizon, though the red remains. The richness of colour is dazzling as he looks at the sky, his jaw slightly hanging open. He is positive that he has never seen such a fiery red in the heavens before, so much so that he feels that it were meant for him to see.
He closes his eyes when he remembers the words spoken on the evening a red sunset had been present over Paris. When Constance looked dreamily into the sky and asked him what he thought sunsets meant, and when he had laughed at what seemed a foolish question, Constance had rebuked him and told him that her question wasn't to be laughed at.
"So what does the sunset mean to you?"
Hope, he had told her that evening as he gazed up into the red sky. Sunsets of that colour usually symbolise a beautiful day was to arrive the next morning.
"Hope," he whispers with his eyes drawn to the horizon. "That's what sundowns represent."
However, instead of feeling consoled, he gets angry. He squeezes the rock in his hand tightly, the one he meant to throw and was now forgotten in his hand, and he clenches his jaw as the jagged edges bite into his flesh. He feels as if a dirty trick has been played on him, and that perhaps his mind was going mad with grief and loss. He realises that the voice of Constance was only a memory that will forever haunt him in his waking hours. and it was thanks to him that he will never see her again.
He screams in fury, not only because he is angry but because he is also grieving. The pain in his heart threatens to overwhelm him, to take over and break him, and he screams again. He ignores the pain of the rock cutting deeper into his hand, focusing only on the agony in his heart.
But yelling is not enough he finds. Screaming, crying and grieving is never enough. It will not ease up the grabbing, cold hands of loss and guilt and anger; it will only get worse. He feels like he is sinking, but he isn't... he is still standing, nothing is causing him to sink except he himself.
"Hope."
Angrily he throws the rock as hard as he possibly could, and while it feels good, his shoulder aches because of how he threw it. The feeling only lasts for a moment, the rock while relieving anger and guilt at the same time for a mere second, does nothing to stop all that suffering from returning. He seethes silently, breathing hard. He is angry at the world, mostly because Constance was not there with him but also because it seems like Athos and his other friends left him. However, he finds that he is also bitter, and that perhaps it is a good thing that none of his friends are around.
He finds that he resents Athos for not killing the demon whose form took that of a beautiful woman's. If she were dead, she wouldn't have did what she did, she would be rotting away in an unmarked grave as he and Constance lived happily.
"Sunsets mean a lot of things, but I think that the main representation is hope that a new day is coming."
"It does not mean hope!" He yells this out as the rage is boiling within him, but soon he feels disgusted with himself.
He hears the pounding of footsteps inside the inn, dimly aware of the fact that the walls were paper thin and everybody could hear his shouts. A knock sounds on the door and Athos' worried voice is heard, he is calling his name and gets frantic when he hears nothing. A moment later, Porthos shout as he calls for Aramis to hurry up with keys.
"We don't have time!" Athos yells and soon the knocking becomes loud bangs as he throws himself at the door.
Ignoring his friends, he gazes out into the darkness of the night. His head is clear now, though his heart feels as though it is in tatters, and he knows deep down that it will remain that way until the day he dies. He promises to himself and to Constance that he will always wait for her, it is she he truly loves and no woman will rival that affection.
As the door gives out and his friends fall into the room, he stares at the heavens and at the stars and moon. He discovers that while sunsets give hope to people, that it also means the beginning of darkness to others.
Author: afleur_de_lis
Prompt #: Prompt 1: Sunset
Prompt table: Table E
Fandom: d'Artagnan romances
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing: Slight Constance/d'Artagnan, but mostly d'Artagnan
Genre: tragedy/angst
Word count: 1441
Disclamer: Dumas' works are in the public domain
Summary: To somebody grieving over the loss of somebody they love, something that they once thought beautiful becomes contorted and dark. D'Artagnan finds himself going mad by loss.
He watches the sunset without actually seeing it, though his eyes are open and they are staring directly at the fiery star as it descends the night sky, he sees none of it. He doesn't notice the sun's vibrant red or the hues that appear like fire across the heavens, he ignores the beauty of it all and stares out with a vacant expression.
How could something so beautiful represent something so evil? He questions himself as he feels the last warmth of the sun on his face before the cold air of the night plays with his hair and caresses his face, and he finds that it taunts him like a lover, gently touching him with soft hands before disappearing for good.
Just like her.
He laughs bitterly at the thought without quite knowing why. If he were like most men, he would have thought that Constance's disappearance was nothing more than a game that she would play in order to test out how much he truly loved her. However, deep down he knew that something was horribly wrong and that the rescue mission would save more than a chance of marriage with the woman he loves; he knows that her life is in danger and he did everything in his power to save her from a tragic fate.
The realisation that he failed her crashes down upon him like the destructive forces of a harbour wave, and he finds that he can't breathe or move. However, he can still think, and he finds that his thoughts are dark and frightening.
Constance is dead.
He failed to save and protect her.
She was killed by a woman whose deadly vengeance should have been turned on him, not an innocent woman who did nothing.
As the face of the beautiful Milady de Winter flashes through his mind, he picks up a rock from the balcony's ledge, one that seems to have fallen off of the inn's face, and he threw it as hard as he could in the direction of the street. He snarls as he picks up another as thoughts of Milady run through his head, and he throws it too. Over and over again, he picks up rocks and throws them over the balcony, envisioning the face of the viper as he drives home a blade to her heart.
"What does the sunset mean to you, d'Artagnan?"
He stops as he is about to throw the ninth rock... or is it the eleventh? He does not remember, he loses count when Milady's icy blue eyes refuse to leave his mind, and he finds that he longs to destroy her the same way she's destroyed him. For a wild moment he thinks that Constance came back to him and he looks around, hopeful and dazed- but she isn't there. How could she be when Milady murdered her in cold blood? Yet, why was he hearing her voice, spoken so clearly that he thinks that she's right beside him?
"Look at the sunset and tell me the first thoughts that come to your mind."
His heart shatters when he hears her voice, knowing that he will never see her again, but forever be haunted by her memory. He yearns to see her beautiful face, to touch her and to feel her touch upon him, and he finds himself going mad with longing.
Then suddenly he feels her hands upon him, touching him gently upon his face and arms. It's just the wind! His mind is screaming, she isn't here- she's dead, lying in a common grave within a convent's cemetery. So why is it that he hears her? Why can he feel her soft hands upon him as if she were here?
A blinding flash of red forces him to stop in his struggles, and momentarily confused and sightless, he gazes out towards the vibrant colour. For the first time that evening, he sees the sunset and in awe he watches it as it disappears into the horizon, though the red remains. The richness of colour is dazzling as he looks at the sky, his jaw slightly hanging open. He is positive that he has never seen such a fiery red in the heavens before, so much so that he feels that it were meant for him to see.
He closes his eyes when he remembers the words spoken on the evening a red sunset had been present over Paris. When Constance looked dreamily into the sky and asked him what he thought sunsets meant, and when he had laughed at what seemed a foolish question, Constance had rebuked him and told him that her question wasn't to be laughed at.
"So what does the sunset mean to you?"
Hope, he had told her that evening as he gazed up into the red sky. Sunsets of that colour usually symbolise a beautiful day was to arrive the next morning.
"Hope," he whispers with his eyes drawn to the horizon. "That's what sundowns represent."
However, instead of feeling consoled, he gets angry. He squeezes the rock in his hand tightly, the one he meant to throw and was now forgotten in his hand, and he clenches his jaw as the jagged edges bite into his flesh. He feels as if a dirty trick has been played on him, and that perhaps his mind was going mad with grief and loss. He realises that the voice of Constance was only a memory that will forever haunt him in his waking hours. and it was thanks to him that he will never see her again.
He screams in fury, not only because he is angry but because he is also grieving. The pain in his heart threatens to overwhelm him, to take over and break him, and he screams again. He ignores the pain of the rock cutting deeper into his hand, focusing only on the agony in his heart.
But yelling is not enough he finds. Screaming, crying and grieving is never enough. It will not ease up the grabbing, cold hands of loss and guilt and anger; it will only get worse. He feels like he is sinking, but he isn't... he is still standing, nothing is causing him to sink except he himself.
"Hope."
Angrily he throws the rock as hard as he possibly could, and while it feels good, his shoulder aches because of how he threw it. The feeling only lasts for a moment, the rock while relieving anger and guilt at the same time for a mere second, does nothing to stop all that suffering from returning. He seethes silently, breathing hard. He is angry at the world, mostly because Constance was not there with him but also because it seems like Athos and his other friends left him. However, he finds that he is also bitter, and that perhaps it is a good thing that none of his friends are around.
He finds that he resents Athos for not killing the demon whose form took that of a beautiful woman's. If she were dead, she wouldn't have did what she did, she would be rotting away in an unmarked grave as he and Constance lived happily.
"Sunsets mean a lot of things, but I think that the main representation is hope that a new day is coming."
"It does not mean hope!" He yells this out as the rage is boiling within him, but soon he feels disgusted with himself.
He hears the pounding of footsteps inside the inn, dimly aware of the fact that the walls were paper thin and everybody could hear his shouts. A knock sounds on the door and Athos' worried voice is heard, he is calling his name and gets frantic when he hears nothing. A moment later, Porthos shout as he calls for Aramis to hurry up with keys.
"We don't have time!" Athos yells and soon the knocking becomes loud bangs as he throws himself at the door.
Ignoring his friends, he gazes out into the darkness of the night. His head is clear now, though his heart feels as though it is in tatters, and he knows deep down that it will remain that way until the day he dies. He promises to himself and to Constance that he will always wait for her, it is she he truly loves and no woman will rival that affection.
As the door gives out and his friends fall into the room, he stares at the heavens and at the stars and moon. He discovers that while sunsets give hope to people, that it also means the beginning of darkness to others.