Musketeers fic: Not the Marrying Kind
Title: Not the marrying kind
Fandom: Musketeers
Word count: 625
Characters: Athos, d’Artagnan
Rating: Gen (pre slash if you do a lot squinting)
AN: For Trope Bingo square: Marriage. Damnit, there’s still one day to go, I am going to get a line with five fandoms.
Not the marrying kind
D’Artagnan thinks that somehow he must have split into two people contained in the same physical shell. One d’Artagnan is the happiest man in all of France having had his dreams fulfilled with a commission in the King’s Musketeers. The other d’Artagnan barely registers that he is even alive having lost his father, his farm and his future with Constance.
Both d’Artagnans spend large amounts of time with the thought that this cannot be true.
“Can you be two people at once?” asks d’Artagnon of Athos as they ride to outside Paris to the chateaus of the Loire. There are messages to be delivered that Captain Treville insists must both be delivered and replied to by a trusted hand.
Athos considers the question a moment and soothes his horse which has turned suddenly fretful. “Of a certainty. You can be both a son and a brother. A husband and a lover. A spy and loyal soldier.”
“True,” says d’Artagnan. This is a new tilt on the matter. “Can you be happy and miserable at the same time?”
Athos considers again. D’Artagnan watches and waits. It would be untrue to call Athos’ face impassive but he’s always careful with the emotions he shows. However, his gaze has never been less than friendly when looking at d’Artagnan and it displays warmth now. “I sense a personal interest. Tell me more but not that you are both soldier and spy for then I should have to kill you. And it is too warm a day for bloodshed.”
“Constance,” replies d’Artagnan.
“Ah,” says Athos, the humour fading from his features. It seems to sum up the situation.
They ride on in silence eventually passing through a small village. The church bells are ringing. There is a wedding. It’s clearly a happy occasion and the bride and groom are surrounded by crowds drinking and laughing. They have no time to stop but Athos and d’Artagnan pause their mounts long enough to drink a cup of rough wine and toast the happy couple.
“Happiness and a long life to you both,” says Athos. As he returns the cup d’Artagnan can see that he has slipped several pieces of gold into the groom’s hand. Well money and happiness are somewhat entwined.
“Happiness is a good wife!” shouts a voice in reply.
“No. It’s a stiff pike!” shouts another in a not-quite rhyme.
The talk becomes ribald. Soon it will be time to lead the bridal pair to their wedding bed and leave them to discover each other. D’Artagnan tries not imagine himself and Constance in that role. Of course, she already has a husband that she refuses to leave but daydreams pay no account to the inconveniences of reality. In d’Artagnan’s mind he lifts Constance up in his arms, kisses her parted lips and carries her across the room to their nuptial bed.
“Good luck to them.” Athos’s voice interrupts his thoughts. Perhaps it’s just as well. For the room he was imagining carrying Constance across was his childhood home. That too was an impossibility.
“You don’t think they’ll be happy?” asks d’Artagnan. The young couple had certainly looked joyful enough. “Weren’t you happy when you wed?”
That’s a difficult question. Athos rarely answers personal questions. “Very happy,” he says eventually. “But that was then. I know better now.”
The horses pick their way through a muddy patch of road. Shadows flicker from the trees that line their route. They’ll need to find an inn soon and put up for the night.
“Do you think Porthos and Aramis will ever get married?” asks d’Artagnan.
“Enough questions,” grumbles Athos but he answers anyway. “They’re the lucky ones. They’re not the marrying kind.”
*