somanyopinions

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Debut

To think, an entire life could be bent toward the goal of grace and poise, yet still a person's self-possession could be utterly ripped from them in the space of an instant.

Anne's emotions, typically so tightly controlled, had spiraled helplessly from her grip, unraveling with each neat click of Rochefort's departing footsteps. Clutching onto Constance, she sobbed, shaking like she hadn't since she was a child, her mind so muddled with shock and fear that she found herself unable to move from the floor despite knowing, distantly, that to linger was further madness.

How had she not known? How had she not seen? What a blind and reckless little fool she had been, putting them all at such risk, throwing the Dauphin's lineage into question—

The Dauphin.

All at once Anne scrambled to her feet, light-headed and unsteady, and hastily gathered up her skirts to run into the hall. Her mind was racing— Constance. She could give the baby to Constance. There was little hope for Anne herself, but there might yet be time for Constance to flee, and she had escaped unnoticed with the Dauphin once before.

Breathless, Anne sprinted toward the nursery, only—

Only the corridor had changed, unfamiliar in the blink of an eye, pale sunlight exchanged for a dark and richly paneled hall. Startling, she tripped against a carpet runner and fell hard against the wall, jarring her shoulder with a wince. The fabric of her skirt still gripped hard in her fingers, escaped hair wild, she leaned there, eyes wide and muscles stiff as her heart hammered in her chest.

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... and it keeps getting worse.

Leaning back to look at her, Aramis worked to make his features as confident as he can. "We will figure things out."

That meant they might have to tell Athos and the others.

That would not go well, he knew. But this was much bigger than how his friends might view him temporarily. All for one and all that. "The other Musketeers are here too," he told her. "Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan. We will figure something out, your Majesty. I promise that it will be all right."

He said it; he wanted to say it, but even he knew he couldn't mean it and couldn't back it up.

Anne felt suddenly dizzy, as if the world had upended itself, but kept her features carefully schooled as she closed her eyes and drew a slow breath. How she wished that she could believe Aramis and his well-meaning sentiment, but with every moment that ticked by, the dread constricting her chest seemed to draw tighter. It would take a great deal more than courage and good intentions to put things right again.

"They must be told," she decided, opening her eyes again as her posture stiffened. "And quickly. We cannot lose any more time."

Opening his mouth to say something, Aramis merely inhaled and then closed his mouth, nodding. Apparently, they did need to be told. "This way, then," he said, gesturing down the hall toward another set of rooms where they would find the other Musketeers. "They ... they are ... this is difficult to explain and understand, but ... they are from earlier times, your Majesty. They have not experienced what you and I have."

Aramis has a set of patterns that Athos has quietly learned. He would never outwardly claim responsibility for any of his friends, but must admit that there are more than one occasion in which they require looking after. Now, it seems that Athos is good to have been wandering, given what he finds. He inclines his head lower in respect, but it is Aramis who draws his gaze. "Your Majesty," he greets, a look of warning question in Athos' eyes.

What have you done now, Aramis is the unspoken demand.

Aramis opens his mouth and closes it. This is not going to go well. "Wait here," he tells the Queen and he moves, taking Athos's elbow to urge him a decent distance away.

"There have been ... complications."

Athos regards the Queen momentarily, taking in the minute shifts in her expression before he pays attention to Aramis, still not sure he is ready for the onslaught of whatever disaster is being brought to him. He has not had enough wine for this. "What sort of complications?" he asks, hushed.

They have not talked extensively about what Athos considers his most recent present so Aramis has a decision (well, many decisions, really) to make. Either way, he knows Athos will not be pleased (to say the least).

"The Cardinal died," he begins, watching his friend's face for any and all signs of recognition - or anything else.

"And someone replaced him. The Comte de Rochefort. He ... quickly found his way into the King's highest regard. But he has assaulted the Queen and - "

And will kill them both - Aramis and the Queen - if given the chance, it seems.

He knows the Comte de Rochefort, had when he had been the Comte de la Fère, had seen him at tedious events, but then the man had gone and gotten himself arrested in a Spanish prison. Of course, the true trouble with the man had always been his personality, but Athos had not seen fit to judge at the time.

"She is safe here," Athos can assure him that much. "I have been back and forth from Paris many times, but no one has ever been capable of following me."

"That is very reassuring. However," Aramis says with a look that is probably too familiar to Athos, that 'you're not going to like this bit of news' look. "The Queen must make sure the Dauphin is all right. It is not safe for him there with Rochefort."

There is a Dauphin. Athos takes in Aramis carefully, every tic and every shift of his expression. It is when he has run out of things to look at that he knows he must pursue and see what a push might bring. "And why would Rochefort be after the King's son?" He stresses 'King', just to see what Aramis does.

Aramis meets Athos's gaze steadily; he must be granted credit for doing that. "Because," he says, the words coming out slowly and deliberately, "he has reason to believe that the Dauphin is not the King's son."

And that is when his gaze skitters away and returns.

Athos does not sigh, but he understands all too well what that means. Rochefort is angry, the son is not the King's, and Athos has seen all too many times the looks Aramis had given to the Queen (and, not a blind man, had seen the ones she gave him in turn). His head aches with the news and it makes him less inclined than ever to return to Paris and cope with this madness.

"I cannot return to the same time as you or her," Athos says, knowing that if he goes back to Paris, it will be his. "Perhaps Porthos? Does he not come from a similar time to you?"

"... not exactly," Aramis tells him. "We simply need a door, Athos. I do not know which door to go through to get back. Time - "

Well, Athos surely knows that. Time is of the essence. Though he is unspeakably grateful for the lack of voiced judgment in this moment. If Athos does not now remember yelling at Aramis, that time will come soon enough.

"If you - and the others - can aid in doing that - " Well, then Aramis can (hopefully) handle the rest.

He nods, understanding what he must show them. His gaze slides to the Queen and he bows his head to indicate that he's about to speak to her about this. "Your Majesty," he begins, "permit me to show you and Aramis to the door that brings me back to Paris. Perhaps you will have some luck with the same." It has been his escape and entrance steadily since he arrived and surely it will hold true that it might be theirs, as well.

"Athos," Anne replied, her nod quick with urgency. "Yes, please, if you would."

All of this still felt so much like a particularly vivid dream, as if she might wake at any moment and find herself in her own bed, in a world that still made sense. In the moment, however dreamlike it have been, there was little to do but be practical, and getting back to the Louvre was paramount.

While Aramis might have his predilections for endearing himself to all sorts, Athos is nowhere near that skilled. He does, however, have the swiftness of efficiency and replies to her Majesty's request with a firm nod of his head. One hand remains on the hilt of his sword as he gestures towards the hallway. "This way, please," he says, easing her in front of him to give him the look in front of her and to guard from behind.

How glad Anne was that, when she found herself in such a strange and implausible situation, she was at least afforded the decisiveness and pragmatism of some of the very few people she explicitly trusted. There was familiarity and comfort in following Athos' calm direction, and in striding down the hall with a purpose, Musketeers at her side.

Athos keeps his attention bound on the Queen, grateful for the distraction from his own personal woes. It gives him relief that he might have something apart from the constant, endless, interminable grief in his mind to focus on and he tries not to be happy for her problems. "I'm sorry you found yourself in such a position, Your Majesty," Athos begins, calm and polite as he arrives at the correct door. "But, if you are with luck on your side, this door is where you may return to Paris," he says, crouching to remove the small scuffed mark from the floor (placed by him to mark it, though only when he departs else he finds it a troublesome invitation for another door all-together).

There was little to be said in reply to such sentiment; as the Queen, it wouldn't be appropriate to do more than simply acknowledge the kindness of the thought. She nodded, and then immediately reached for the door knob.

Taking care, she pulled and found with relief that the door gave way. Slowly, she peered just inside, mindful of what might be awaiting them on the other side.

Frowning, she leaned back again. "This is not the room I left," she whispered, still confused as to the workings of such a place.

Athos remains back so that he might give her the respect and room that she requires, but her statement causes some mild concern in Athos. He keeps his steady hand upon his sword as he glances through and finds that it is not what she is after, though he suspects it is still Paris -- simply a part of Paris he cannot identify. "Perhaps Aramis might have better luck?"

"I fail to see how," Anne replied, her tone restricted from sharpness, but only just. The number of confusing events which had transpired over the last hour would have tried anyone's patience, even a Queen known for her mild demeanor.

"Is this or is this not a door back to Paris?"

"It is, Majesty," Athos confirms, though he does not know if she will like what she finds if they pass together through the door, for it might bring them to a part of Paris that will not suit the Queen well. "It has been for me, of course, but I am afraid the doors have occasion to move without our control. There is no sense to it," he says, with heavy criticism.

Porthos is in the best of moods, that day. He's finally reverted back to normal, and he's taken great pleasure in donning his regular clothes, not to mention clasping the pauldron back on his shoulder. It feels good to be back, and he's got every intention of walking through the first door he can find to some other place in the hope of finding some adventure to be had, and preferably one that involves some fighting.

It's with that in mind that he's looking for Aramis, and he grins when he finds him just around the corner. And with Athos, at that! "Aramis," he calls out, spreading his arms as if to say, look at me! He's about to call out Athos's name, too, when he notices him stepping away towards someone else, and his arms drop as a frown replaces his joyful expression.

"Ah. Porthos." And Porthos as a man, yes, very good news. Forgive Aramis, Porthos for not being more cheerful, but, well. About that.

He takes his friend's arm and leads him away a good few paces. That's when he meets Porthos's eyes and Porthos should know that expression on Aramis's face. There is trouble and, yes, that trouble has something to do with Aramis and with the Queen. "Athos is going to show her Majesty and I the door he uses to get back to Paris."

Porthos has barely had time to acknowledge that yes, it is the Queen (for some reason, the last people he expected to see here were his King and Queen, as if their royal status set them above the whims of this place), and he's about to go and bow to her when Aramis draws him aside. When he looks away from the Queen and at his friend's face, it's impossible not to recognise that look, and he instinctively tugs his gloves on a little tighter (odd how he still feels a little unused to things this way around, now). "What's going on?" he asks, since, clearly, something is.

Is there enough time, even, to go into all the details? Does Aramis have the fortitude to face Porthos's reaction to said details?

He takes a deep breath. "The Queen," he starts. "And her son." His son. "Are in danger by the man who replaced the Cardinal in the King's court."

"Rochefort," Porthos states, his gaze dark and his desire to hurt the man, preferably repeatedly, clearly etched on his face. "The Dauphin's still in Paris?" he assumes, or why would they be in a hurry to go back.

"Yes. And under Rochefort's hand. The King is ... unable to see clearly. We must get the Dauphin before - "

Before something bad happens. Before Aramis has yet another reason to want to kill Rochefort.

Sometimes - not that he'll ever say so out loud - Porthos thinks that their King was perhaps not made for the job. But it's not for him to judge, of course, even when he can picture that happening so clearly. Just as it had with the cardinal before.

"Well, come on, then," Porthos states. "What are we waiting for?" He will ask for details later, once the Queen and the Dauphin are both safe.

There will be more talk later; Aramis vows to explain to Porthos all of it. But for now, he gives his friend a relieved and grateful squeeze of the shoulder and leads their way back to the Queen.

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Debut

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