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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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Rarely did Aramis walk with his head down; he liked to see what was coming at him, really. But this was one moment of that; something, perhaps by his boot caught his eye. But when a movement up ahead caught the corner of his eye, he looked up.

And his heart stopped. "Your Majesty," he nearly whispered before sprinting forward too, crashing to his knees to crane his neck to see her face, reaching for her hands. "Your Majesty," he said again, carefully. He could not control the contracting of his heart, how very hard it was beating at seeing her here. At seeing her here so disheveled and lost. "Your Majesty." Coaxing this time. "It's all right." It would be all right; he would explain this place, find out what was going on, why she seemed so very bothered.

How impossible it seemed, even now, that Aramis should always appear at just at the moment Anne needed him most. Staring up at him, her pulse loud in her ears, she was stunned enough that for a moment she was unable to speak.

It was most assuredly not all right; indeed, she wondered at how anything might be all right for either of them ever again.

"He knows," she finally said, voice tight, her eyes wide and searching. "Rochefort knows, he's- He's gone to tell the King. He- Oh god." She wrenched her gaze away, a hand fluttering up to cover her mouth. "He meant to make himself my lover."

How had she not seen? How had she not known?

Aramis bit back the "what?" that wanted to come out; the question that she had just answered without it being asked, the confirmation that he had heard correctly.

Holding her elbows (which gave him a reason not to ball his hands into fists), he searched her face as ardently as she had searched his.

"Rochefort," he finally said, his own heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears. The worst man to find out (outside the King, of course) knows. Forgive him, but he has to ask: "did he hurt you?" Aramis would kill him. As soon as he found a door, he would kill Rochefort.

"No," Anne replied, although that wasn't strictly true. She had believed Rochefort one of her most loyal subjects, one of her most precious friends. She had welcomed him to court and into her life again with open arms. He may not have hurt her physically, but he had wounded her nonetheless.

"No," she repeated, and her voice hitched with a sudden wave of emotion. "Constance- She stopped him before-" A sob wrenched its way from her throat, cutting her off. She had trusted Rochefort, more than nearly anyone.

"All of this is my doing," she said, hands shaking as she wiped at the tears spilling over her cheeks. "We'll both be executed for treason, and the Dauphin-"

She jerked her gaze up, becoming abruptly aware of their strange surroundings again. "What is happening? What is this place?"

One thing at a time. Aramis shushed her gently, not wanting her to get too overwrought, gently brushing at the tears too with his thumb.

This, though, it was serious. It was the worst possible scenario. "Where is the Dauphin?" he asked carefully. "Where was he when you came through a door?"

They would deal with the questions in a moment.

Edited 2015-03-16 19:32 (UTC)

"With Marguerite," Anne said. "In the nursery, I think. There hadn't been time for anyone to come for him." But there had been time enough now, and she was still on the floor clutching at her lover.

"I have to go," she insisted, attempting to stand. "If I can get him to Constance, she might be able to get him out, get him to-"

Well, get him to Aramis had been her initial thought, but Aramis was here, and this was not part of the Louvre.

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"We're in something called the Nexus," he tried to explain as he steadied her, standing as well, though he may have been the worst person to do this, especially now that he knows they need to get to the baby. "A 'hotel.' With a number of doors. Some of them go to different places. Everyone here came from somewhere else. Some are able to find the doors back to where they have come from, but ... I have not been able to."

But clearly, they needed to try. "What door did you come in from?" he asked, hand still braced her elbow.

Aggitated as she was, Anne wanted to argue, wanted to point out the utter madness of what Aramis was saying: She couldn't be in a hotel, had he been listening? She'd been in the Louvre, with its guards and gates and Rochefort all trying to lock her in. The clash of emotions warring within her was reaching a fever pitch and she was edging perilously close to panic, when she made to hastily answer the question put to her and found the answer had very literally disappeared.

"How...?" she exhaled, and stepped forward to press the palms of her hands against the far wall. "It was here, just here!" She'd tripped just past the threshold and hadn't moved more than a few steps, but the door was gone. It was as if it had never been there in the first place.

"There are other doors. The other Musketeers are here and some travel freely, it seems, back to Paris. So, let us go now," he told her, hand resting in the small of her back. "We just ... look for doors," he said, though it sounded mad, he knew. But if it was as she said, they had no time to waste.

"Some doors, I am told, are just doors. Others are portals to other places. Other ... times. We must use caution." As hard as it would.

With confusion threatening to overwhelm her and the shock of Rochefort's betrayal still lingering as well, there was little for Anne to do but simply trust in what Aramis was telling her, however mad it might seem. Disappearing doors, portals, other times… it was all too much to process with so much fear crawling beneath her skin.

"I don't understand," she admitted, allowing herself to be led. "I don't understand what's happening. Are you telling me that I might not be able to return?"

He could not lie to her. "We shall try," he said as means of a reply. "Let us try."

If the Dauphin was in danger, he had to try. "Tell me what happened," he urged as they started to try doors.

As reasonable an answer as that was, it did little to assuage Anne's confusion. As she watched Aramis pulling open doors along the hallway, it seemed to her that he might not have the answers to give, and that itself was more frightening than anything else yet.

"I was…," she began, glad for the distraction of organizing her thoughts, however much she might prefer to forget what happened. "I was in my rooms at the palace. At prayer. Rochefort entered and closed the door behind him. He asked about the crucifix." Fingers still shaking, she rubbed at the spot between her eyes where a headache was beginning to loom.

"I had forgotten," she said, her eyes falling briefly closed. "I was so young when he'd given it to me, and it was mere coincidence that I was wearing it that day we met. I ought to have remembered."

Edited 2015-03-16 22:33 (UTC)

The -

Reaching into his tunic, Aramis drew out the crucifix he still wore - the one he always wore. This? This was a gift from Rochefort?

Well ... that was not welcome news.

"... and that... that was how he knew? Of us?"

"I don't know what other proof he might have had, but it was enough for him to suspect," Anne replied, and then swallowed roughly, her throat dry. "Enough for him to be poisoned by jealousy. He told me that he would forgive my transgressions if I told him that I loved him, if I would take him as my lover instead."

It had only just happened, and yet what she was saying still seemed impossible.

"I told him to leave, slapped him, but that was when…" She drew an unsteady breath, pressing her fingers to her mouth again.

"Shhhh." He pulled Anne into his arms, just briefly. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other arm held her close. "He cannot hurt you here. Once we get the Dauphin, I will - "

Aramis would kill Rochefort. Athos had told him not to make rash or poor decisions. But how could this stand? It couldn't, surely.

"Aramis," Anne said, her voice suddenly very low and tense, poised on a terrifying precipice. "He said he has been in love with me all of this time, since before I left Spain. If this is true, if he is truly so overcome by his feelings that he would behave so rashly, so selfishly..."

She trailed off, her thoughts skittering in a dozen directions, catching hold of threads and tying them at last together.

"Even at his worst, never before has the King refused my counsel," she said. "He will not see me, and he has now given Rochefort the power of the crown. This cannot be coincidence."

... 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.

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.

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.

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