Chapter Text
d’Artagnan was walking the halls, mind on the papers in his hands as he sorted through them and walked at the same time, his Musketeers knowing well enough to get out of his way. He came out into the courtyard, the sun shining beautifully as it was wont to do in the late spring, and looked up as he heard the familiar clash of swords. None of his men were to be training for the day- they were to be at their posts as the Queen Mother, Aramis, and a few others met the Infanta, the Queen, and brought her back to Paris- so it caught d’Artagnan’s attention.
d’Artagnan felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned his hip against the battered table and watched Raoul and Alexandre sparring. Raoul had grown up into a handsome young man of twenty-five with Sylvie’s dark, intelligent eyes and Athos’s build and bearing, thought without the melancholic air. Alexandre reminded d’Artagnan- and everyone else who had known him at twenty- far too much of himself. He was brash and hot-headed at times, though quick to smile in a way that reminded d’Artagnan of Constance, and had grown tall, though still willow-switch thin as the last vestiges of boyhood clung to his frame. His hair was dark like d’Artagnan’s but held the faintest curl like Constance’s.
“Aren’t you two meant to be getting dressed?” d’Artagnan called, sending both boys jolting away from one another as he clearly startled them.
“Yes, Captain,” Raoul said with a faint grimace, all seriousness and contrition.
Alexandre only sent his father a warm smile. “We have time, Father. Aramis said he’d send Marie-Cessette ahead with word.” He reached up to push his hair- sweat damp from the sun and exertion- away from his eyes.
“You won’t have to worry about going at all if your mother finds out you’ve been out here getting filthy again,” d’Artagnan said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. Alexandre pulled a face at the threat of his mother’s irritation. “Go on, get cleaned up and dressed before Constance sees you, either of you.” He nodded over his shoulder to the washroom.
“Yes, sir,” Raoul said dutifully and d’Artagnan clapped a hand down on the boy’s shoulder as he passed. Alexandre rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he started to follow after Raoul.
“You don’t have to call him that. He’s practically your father too,” Alexandre pointed out as he tugged on the back of Raoul’s shirt.
“You could stand to learn a thing or two about respect,” d’Artagnan teased and gently cuffed the back of his son’s head, though it was barely hard enough to ruffle his hair and certainly less forceful than what Aramis and Porthos had once used on d’Artagnan himself at Alexandre’s age.
“He’s certainly your son, no doubt about it,” a voice called from across the courtyard. d’Artagnan snorted as Constance made her way over, beautiful in her blue and dove grey dress with her auburn hair- a few streaks of silvery-grey starting to shine through- twisted up simply. The faint glitter of silver fleur-de-lis pins caught d’Artagnan’s eye and made him smile since he knew that they were not just simple hairpins but stiletto knives, a gift from Her Majesty.
“My father always used to say that brash young men were punished in their older years by having sons just like them,” d’Artagnan said and wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, tugging her in to press a kiss to her temple. “Though I can’t say that I feel anything other than perfectly grateful.” Constance’s labor with Alexandre had been a hard one, one that d’Artagnan had been terrified to witness as he held her hand and soothed her hair back from her face. It had been some time after Alexandre’s birth that they even considered trying for another. There were a few hopes dashed- or perhaps they were babes that just didn’t quicken- and just when they’d given up, Jean came, four years after Alexandre. Jean was more thoughtful than Alexandre, quieter and more contemplative when the tension rose. He reminded d’Artagnan of both his namesake- the former Captain- and of Athos at times.
“As do I,” Constance said and smoothed her hand down the front of d’Artagnan’s uniform. “What do you know about the Infanta?” She asked and looped her arm through d’Artagnan’s so she could tug him towards his office.
“She and the King are the same age, only born a few days apart,” d’Artagnan said, thinking back to everything that Aramis had told him before he’d gone to meet the Infanta and her retinue. “She’s said to be very beautiful-”
“She’s a princess, I doubt anyone would have the courage to say so if she were otherwise,” Constance said lowly and d’Artagnan nudged her with his elbow, a smile pulling at his mouth.
“She was highly educated by her governess and by a tutor since she may yet be the Queen of Spain and she likes to play cards,” d’Artagnan reported dutifully. He covered Constance’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. “The Queen Mother seems to like her. She’s the one that insisted on the match.” d’Artagnan knew that Aramis had- even though he himself agreed that a Spanish match would help make peace with the country they’d been at war with for so long- suggested other eligible ladies. The princess of Savoy- Margaret Yolande- being one such example and the only one that had gotten far enough to actually meet Louis and begin negotiations. Until Spain changed its mind, of course.
“The Infanta is her niece,” Constance pointed out, though not necessarily because she was arguing with him. She sighed softly. “I’m just relieved that the matter of his marriage is settled,” she said firmly and both grimaced as they remembered the road to Louis’s recent nuptials. And it wasn’t just the various ambassadors, and all the organization that that entailed, that had caused troubles.
There had been a brief- and blessedly chaste- love-affair between Marie-Cessette and the young King. For the longest time, none of them had even known about it. Marie-Cessette was serving at the palace as an honor that Anne bestowed upon Porthos for his dedicated service during the war, and it wasn’t until one of Anne’s ladies had seen the pair exchange a shy kiss in the gardens that any of them had even suspected let alone known about it. The affair was one that Anne did not approve of whatsoever, no matter the affection she had for Porthos, and had forced Aramis and Louis’s hands in ending it. Louis and Marie-Cessette had both been heartbroken and there had been a rift between Aramis and Porthos for some time after that as Porthos had consoled his daughter as best he could. But Marie-Cessette was a practical girl and as much as she’d been infatuated with Louis, she understood that he could never have married her, even if it was what he wanted.
“Will Marie-Cessette be there?” d’Artagnan asked, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl if she were forced to watch her first love be married to someone else.
“Elodie says that she wants to go,” Constance said helplessly. “Says that she told her mother that even if they can be nothing else to each other, they were still friends once.” Constance shook her head slightly. “She’s a better woman than me. I’m not sure that I could stand it.”
“Nor I,” d’Artagnan murmured and leaned in to press his face against the crown of her head.
“Come along then, Captain. We better see what your sons are up to,” Constance said and turned her face into his so she could kiss him softly before they both went to check on what the boys were up to. Raoul was brushing off his doublet, in a deep midnight blue that only served to make his features more striking in contrast, while Alexandre finished up with his uniform and Jean tried- and failed- to get his hair to lie flat. Raoul had expressed interest in becoming a Musketeer when he was young, around Jean’s age, but had diverted from that path not long after expressing an interest in it. He still had ideas of becoming a soldier, but when he felt more ready for it, more suited to it. Alexandre on the other hand had always wanted to be a Musketeer like his father from the time he could talk and he’d followed through. d’Artagnan had been hard on him, in the same way that Athos and Treville had been hard on him, but once he was sure that Alexandre understood what it meant to be a Musketeer, he’d tested his son and been pleased to watch him succeed. Jean wanted to serve France, but he hadn’t decided yet how he wished to do that.
“Are the young peacocks finally done preening?” d’Artagnan asked teasingly as he leaned against the doorframe to the bedroom that all three of them shared.
“Do I pass inspection, Captain?” Alexandre asked and turned on his heel until he was facing his father again.
“I suppose you’ll do,” d’Artagnan said fondly and stepped forward to settle the collar of Alexandre’s cloak before patting his shoulder. “You should go ahead to the Palace. Keep the King company, he’ll be nervous.” Alexandre’s smile dipped into something more serious as he nodded and then strode past his father to do as he was told. “Come on, we should be there to greet the new queen.” d’Artagnan held his arm out and Jean tucked himself into his father’s side, heedless of the equipment strapped to d’Artagnan’s belt and the leather armor that encased his torso. It was all just part of who Jean’s father had always been.
“Will she be like the King’s mother, Papa?” Jean asked and though he was sixteen he wasn’t yet embarrassed to be seen tucked at his father’s side like a child as most young men eventually become.
“Perhaps she will,” d’Artagnan said. “But we will do our duty and protect her and the King regardless.” He guided Jean ahead of him where Constance was holding out a hand for their youngest before he nodded at Raoul. Raoul nodded and started after Jean and Constance, d’Artagnan not far behind him.
…..
d’Artagnan stood at a vantage point for the blessing ceremony. Marie-Thérèse, the Infanta of Spain and Queen of France, was as beautiful as all reports had said: her hair was a deep burnished gold that curled at the ends from where it was artfully done up, she had high cheekbones and long lashes, and her royal blue and cloth-of-gold gown seemed to draw every eye to her regal bearing. She was a born Queen. Since they had already been married by proxy before her coming to France and then again once she’d arrived, the blessing was brief and quickly returned to the palace for a celebration befitting the welcome of a new royal couple.
d’Artagnan’s eyes moved from the King, who was securely looked after by a Musketeer guard as well as Aramis not far from his side, to find his family. Athos was dressed well but somberly in a blue that looked so nearly black that it was almost indistinguishable unless he were in the light. He and Porthos- who wore his uniform with all the decorations that came with it- stood next to Constance and Elodie, both in the vibrant Musketeer blue that they’d favored since marrying into the regiment. Marie-Cessette was not far from her mother’s side in a pale blue gown that sat off her shoulders and exposed the elegant line of her collarbones and neck and brought out her eyes. Her hair- blonde and curly like Elodie’s- was done up in the same style that all the ladies of court wore, which served to further accentuate the classic beauty she was in possession of. Even though hers was a soft silk dress that was obviously well made, it was plain- unadorned- compared to all the other ladies around her. Marie-Cessette wore only a brooch that strung pearls along the neckline of her gown- a gift from Porthos upon his return from fighting against Spain- and a delicate gold chain that settled loosely at the hollow of her throat. It was so fine and so lovely that it must have been a gift from Louis. Despite her feelings for the young King, she was smiling and laughing with Jean, who beamed up at her as if she were the most beautiful thing that he’d ever seen. With his youth and inexperience, she might have been. Jean was dressed simply in a starched white shirt and a leather doublet that cut his figure into something that seemed older than the awkward teenage boy that he was. The warm brown of the leather and the shining brass on the closures brought out his olive skin and the hints of auburn in his hair. It was clear that he would be a handsome man one day. Alexandre was dutifully at his post near one of the many doors, back straight and shoulders looking broad underneath his uniform doublet, pauldron, and the deep blue cloak that d’Artagnan had styled for the regiment, returning it from the grim blacks that had crept in during the war. Alexandre, like d’Artagnan for so long after he’d joined the Musketeers himself, didn’t wear a hat but rather let his hair fall across his forehead. When he caught his father’s eye, his mouth twitched up but only for a moment before he schooled it back into careful neutrality. For a long moment, d’Artagnan had difficulty finding Raoul in the crowd. So many courtiers were wearing blue as they spoke with the King and his new Queen. d’Artagnan finally spotted him at the edges of the room with a young lady. She had dark hair and her smile was lovely as she flushed the same pale pink of the ribbons that decorated her gown. Raoul ducked his head in close to say something to her, his smile devastating for any young lady, and her blush only deepened as she turned her head away with a laugh that she attempted to cover with a dainty hand. d’Artagnan knew that it could only be trouble for the pair of them, but one night of care-free flirting couldn’t hurt.
d’Artagnan nodded for another Musketeer to take his place before he made his way through the crowded salon and over to his family. Constance beamed at him and set a hand on his chest when he was close enough, the other coming around to enclose his waist. “Come to join us, have you?” She asked teasingly, her blue eyes bright with happiness.
“I thought I just might,” d’Artagnan said, feeling at ease now that the whole of his family was close. He knew- even before that moment- that he was a lucky man. He said it aloud often and thought it even more so, but he couldn’t help but shine with the peace and joy that came with how everything had turned out. The only thing that could make it better- and as if the beginnings of d’Artagnan’s thought had summoned him, Aramis made his way into their company.
“I’d say it’s been a success,” Aramis said and glanced over his shoulder to look at where Louis was standing between his mother and his new wife, practically bursting at the seams, as he spoke with a few well-wishers. He had grown into a good king and d’Artagnan couldn’t help but note the similarities between Louis and Aramis’s appearances. No one who looked at them in passing would see it, but d’Artagnan knew Aramis well enough to make all the right connections. After a quick glance, Aramis’s brow furrowed. “Where’s Raoul?”
“Over there by the windows,” d’Artagnan said and nodded over his shoulder. “Don’t all look at once or you’ll embarrass him.” They all carefully timed their glances, though Athos’s look was more outright staring than a glance.
“Who is she?” Athos asked as he tipped his head to see where Raoul was still talking to the same young lady.
“That’s Louise de Vallière,” Aramis said after he narrowed his eyes slightly- he’d likely need glasses soon though he would be loathe to admit it aloud- to figure out which lady Raoul was talking to. “She’s lovely, she and Louis are acquainted I believe.”
“Seems Raoul thinks much the same,” Constance teased with a knowing smile. Athos looked almost appalled at the suggestion as he glanced at Constance sharply enough that d’Artagnan’s neck gave a sympathy twinge.
“He’s far too young for that,” Athos muttered and d’Artagnan snorted- loudly.
“I was already married to Constance when I was younger than Raoul is now,” d’Artagnan pointed out.
“He’s just a child,” Athos argued.
“Athos,” Porthos said with a commiserating twist to his mouth, “he’s not been a child for some time now. Only a little over a year younger than Marie-Cessette.” There was a pointedness to that statement that didn’t need to be spoken to be heard. Athos shifted so that his shoulder brushed against Porthos’s softly.
“I suppose I’m not ready to imagine him in love,” Athos admitted and sighed softly. “It seems like only yesterday he was using broom handles as swords and asking me to kiss his scraped knees.”
Constance moved from d’Artagnan’s side to lean against Athos’s. “They grow up faster than we’d ever like them to,” she agreed from where her cheek was resting on Athos’s shoulder. “But it’s not up to us to decide, it’s up to them.”
“She says that until Alexandre tries to bring someone home,” d’Artagnan teased to try and break the heavy tension. Porthos and Aramis both laughed heartily, Elodie grinning alongside them, and even Athos let out an amused sort of breath, letting the tension fade from his body. Constance put on an affronted air as she primly turned her face away from her husband’s.
“I’ve no idea what you’re trying to imply.”
d’Artagnan only hummed in response before ducking his head slightly. He knew it couldn’t be too far off into the future. All of the children- Marie-Cessette, Raoul, Alexandre, and even Jean- were growing up so quickly. Their paths were only just beginning and as much as it frightened him to think of what could lie ahead of them- the burden of every parent- it also thrilled him to imagine how much further their family could grow in the future. The world was full of possibilities, they only had to have the courage and faith to meet them as they came. And to remember that love- the love they had for their children, their family, and for each other- was more important than anything else. That it would guide them all back to one another, no matter the distance or the difficulties that lie between them. That so long as they held it in their hearts, it would bring them home.