uncommonlybrave | et si le combat prend fin, c'est surement parce qu'on t'as pris par la main

Entry tags:

d'artagnan

et si le combat prend fin, c'est surement parce qu'on t'as pris par la main

Truth be told, d'Artagnan was not her first stop after she spoke with Porthos. Though Constance knows in her heart what she needs to do and that this divorce is more for herself than anyone else, the fact remains that divorce is a serious thing, a terrible crime in the eyes of God. She believes that He will forgive her sins, made as they are in the name of love, harming no one, but even so, there is some small flicker of doubt on that part. Who is she to think the rule apply differently to her than to anyone else?

But then she thinks, how can it be so wrong? If the love isn't there, if she has the means to care for herself now, then what point would there be in staying in a loveless marriage? Who is hurt by her choosing this for herself? Bonacieux is not even here. He cannot be harmed by what doesn't affect him. Still she stops at church on the way to d'Artagnan's apartment, taking a few minutes to light a candle and say a prayer, to ask for forgiveness. God help her, she needs this. Terrifying as the prospect is, she wants it fiercely. Until she cuts the ties of her marriage, she'll spend forever looking over her shoulder, wondering when all this will be taken from her. She won't lose her chance to fear.

Hurrying over, she doesn't take the time even to call, instead hurrying up to his door and knocking. How she'll tell him, what she'll say, she hardly knows, but she must tell him what Porthos has told her. He needs to know. She needs him to know.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There are only so many people who'd be stopping by unexpectedly like this. D'Artagnan has a few acquaintances here in Darrow who aren't anyone he knows from home, but no one who would just be knocking on his door, he thinks. Odds are, it's either a neighbor, or, more likely, it's Constance or one of the others. As such, he isn't exactly surprised when he peers out and sees her there, opening the door a moment later, smiling instinctively. One of these days, he thinks, he's got to just ask her if she wants to move in, something that, as far as he can gather, wouldn't be out of the ordinary here at all. Until then, her presence is always a welcome one.

"Constance," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth before he stands aside to let her in. "I didn't know you were coming by."

"I wasn't planning on it," Constance admits. There's a flutter of nerves in her stomach, but she smiles even so, just the sight of him a balm for her worried soul. Though she reminds herself this is a choice she needs to make for herself alone, she can't thinking of it as something for them as well. They have chances here they'll never have in Paris. She won't be the reason they miss out on all that, if he wants it.

Slipping inside, she turns to face him again. "I ran into Porthos. He's worrying over the wedding. Thinks Aramis will tire of him eventually. I had to talk sense into him, the poor thing."

"As if there's any chance of that," d'Artagnan says, huffing out a breath. It still confuses him a little, if he's entirely honest, the relationship that Porthos and Aramis have here, but he doesn't care about that, as long as they're happy, and that isn't the point right now anyway. "If Aramis were going to tire of him, he would have by now." They've known each other forever, it seems like. Anyway, he can't imagine Aramis, with his track record, going so far as to get married if he weren't entirely sure.

Closing the door behind them, he steps in close, his hands resting on Constance's waist. "Whether you were planning on it or not, it's good to see you."

"That's what I said." Though Constance has been spared the details, she's long been aware of Aramis's reputation. A man like that doesn't settle down until he's found the right person to convince him that it's what he needs. Besides, he must know that, if he were to break Porthos' heart, he'd have the rest of them to contend with. It's not a risk worth taking.

With d'Artagnan's hands on her waist, though, she can't keep her mind on that. She wants to lean into him, stay close and have him hold her. With what needs to be said, she can't do that. Hands gently on his chest, she keeps him slightly at bay. It's too easy, with him, to give into temptation, and she can't be distracted.

"He's been doing some research," she says, uncertain. "Apparently he's been talking to some lawyers..." She can't imagine d'Artagnan being less than pleased for her, but saying it remains inexplicably daunting. It might turn out he thinks she's presumptuous, that he doesn't want these things after all. Even knowing it isn't true, she can't help thinking maybe he finds it safer to be with a married woman. "About — about divorce. You can do it here without having to — to prove anything. A no-fault divorce, he said. Just because you don't want to be together anymore. I... I could get one of those."

Of all the things Constance might have been coming over to tell him, d'Artagnan thinks this might be the most unexpected, and for a moment, it's clear in the way he looks at her. It isn't as if he hasn't thought about it, the possibility of marrying her. Here as well as back in Paris, no matter how far out of reach it might have been there, with the way he feels about Constance, there'd have been no way for it not to cross his mind. It's just never been a sticking point, though, and as different as Darrow might be, it's never occurred to him that things could be different here, that just like that, she might no longer be a married woman.

Regardless of how thrown he is, it takes everything in him not to seize on that fact. He's never minded it, being with her in spite of that, but if there is an alternative, it's hard not to find it preferable even without her saying much. He has to try to hold that at bay for at least a moment longer, though. It wouldn't be fair to do otherwise. Lifting one hand from her waist for a moment to smooth some hair back from her face, he ducks his chin to hold her gaze. "Do you want to get one of those?"

Tipping her head up with the sweep of her fingers, Constance closes her eyes just for a moment. When she opens them again, looking back into his, there is no hesitation, and her hand lifts to cover his. "Yes," she says. "I want it terribly." Whether that means marrying him or continuing on as they are, she'll be happy to know she's done it. They'll be free here. She wants that more than anything else, perhaps more than she's ever wanted anything. To be free of the burden of her marriage, for them not to have that hanging over them anymore, for her to be in truth the independent woman she has become in practice... nothing could make her happier.

"I want to be free," she says simply. "And maybe if we ever return to Paris, it won't mean anything there, but it means something to me now." She left her father's house for her husband's. But here, now, for as long as it lasts, even being with d'Artagnan, she can finally, truly be her own.

"In that case, I think you should do it," d'Artagnan says with a solemn nod and a trace of a smile, one meant to be reassuring. It isn't as if he thinks she should need his approval on this sort of thing, but it is something significant, a far cry from what her options would have been back in Paris, and if nothing else, he wants her to know that she'll have his support no matter what. Strange as the idea of this new sort of divorce might be, it would be a difficult idea to object to. Even if she never wants to marry him, even if she decides not to stay with him, she shouldn't have to live under the shadow of her husband, when he's hundreds of years and God only knows how far from here. "If it's what you want, then it's what I want for you, Constance."

It's another reminder, a stark one, of why she wants this like she does. Constance can't imagine Bonacieux would ever have said such a thing, even in less extreme circumstances. What she desires has had nothing to do with her marriage, and her husband has little care for what she wants, no matter how small or harmless. But d'Artagnan only ever wishes to make her happy. Sometimes he's foolish about it or too headstrong, but his intentions are good and he respects her. What choice she makes, he will accept, and that's so reassuring. The choice is hers. The freedom to make it is hers.

"I hardly know where to start," she admits. "Porthos said I can talk to the lawyers he and Aramis have been seeing. I don't know what it involves or how long it will take or how much it will cost, but..." She smiles, tugging gently at his sleeve where her hand has fallen to his arm. "I suppose I'll be getting divorced soon."

Back home, it would have been a scandal. Back home, it would have been impossible, though d'Artagnan knows that never kept him from wishing she would do it anyway, so the two of them could have a life together regardless of the circumstances. Here, though, it doesn't seem as if a divorce will be consequential at all, except to her, to the two of them. No one else will care. And though he'd have loved her all the same, spent the rest of his days with her, if she wanted to remain a married woman, he can't deny being selfishly pleased by her response. It's the best possible course of action. She shouldn't have to stay trapped with a man she doesn't love, even if only symbolically.

He smiles down at her, nothing but fond. "I can't say I don't like the sound of that myself," he says. "And... you know I'll be here for you, through all of it."

"You'd better be," Constance says softly, though she's smiling through it. They've had their difficulties but any doubts she has are her own trouble. She's never had cause to doubt he loves her as truly as he says he does, and he does not desert those he loves. Still, it does trouble her, and not simply because she worries whether or not she's really worth all those fuss. He thinks so, that's what counts.

She hesitates a moment, uncertain how to proceed. Even without asking, she thinks she knows just what he'll say, and she has to admit that part of asking is that it's what she wants to hear. Really, asking him is a bit pointless. Still, she has to say it or she'll keep thinking it. "You don't think it's wrong, do you? Marriage is supposed to be for life. I made a vow before God. If I take that back..."

"If you take that back, then you'll be truly free of a man you never wanted to be with in the first place," d'Artagnan says. Though he's aware that may be oversimplifying it, and that there are plenty of people who would disagree, he hardly sees how that can be so wrong, why God would want her to be miserable, or tethered to someone who very well may never come here at all. Besides, if divorce is as common a thing in Darrow as he's gotten the impression that it is, then it's hard to see how much difference it could actually make, no matter what was widely believed back home. "I don't see what could be so wrong about that."

"It's not like I was miserable," Constance says gently, though it's in no small part because she can afford to be generous. Standing here now with the man she truly loves, knowing she has the option of ending that part of her life, at least while here, there's no harm in speaking kindly of what she's left behind. "I wasn't. But I... I wasn't happy. I want more than that."

Her smile grows as she speaks, a little shy, and on an impulse, she leans in to give him a soft kiss. Everything's changing, but all the important things are the same. As dizzying as it all may be, this is right, she knows it.

Really, it's not something d'Artagnan needs to hear to know. In a way, he thinks he's known it since not long after he met her, ages before they actually kissed. Whether it was wishful thinking or just fitting pieces together, he can't be entirely sure, but either way, he isn't surprised to hear her say as much. He doesn't say so, though, if only because it feels like something she might need to say for herself, an honest admittance. Back home, it would have hurt. Here, it just makes him grateful all over again that they're somewhere she has — they have — an opportunity like this at all.

"And you should have more," he says, backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek. "Whatever that involves. You're a good woman, Constance — the best I've known. That's nothing divorcing your husband could change."

Constance closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. Even though she wouldn't have expected any other reaction from him, it's still a relief and a comfort to hear. "Thank you," she murmurs. "It's just such a big change." That it's even possible is still dizzying. She would never have realized if Porthos hadn't looked into it for her, not when it just never could have happened at home. It hadn't even occurred to her to read up on the possibility herself. But now they can have everything they never would have had at home, all the openness and possibility that any other couple might have, if they want it.

"I never imagined myself a divorcée. It'll take some getting used to, but... I can do that while I'm talking to a lawyer about it."

"You don't need to thank me," d'Artagnan says softly, shaking his head. He understands it, he does, why this is such a significant thing to do, why she might have wanted to see how he felt about it, even if he thinks that should have been obvious. It isn't as if it requires much on his part to support her in this, though, when it's something he has every reason to want, too. Had nothing changed, he wouldn't have cared, would have loved her all the same, but it's an intensely appealing idea, Constance no longer being tied to her husband in that manner. She may never want to marry again, but at least she won't be someone else's wife while she's with him. At least she'll be happier, even if it's really only a formality. "And you have all the time to get used to it that you need here."

Even if their relationship had always been a difficult one, even had they never left home, Constance knows how lucky she is to have found him. Few are the men at home who would see her as an equal. Her marriage hadn't seemed such a hardship before him because she hadn't thought it could be different. Any man she might have married would have behaved the same. Or, at least, so she had thought before she met him and the others, met men who respected her and what she could do and who she was, woman or no. He's so supportive. He's so good to her. And this, this is how it should be, no matter what she grew up expecting.

Smiling soft, she rests her hand on his, thumb stroking lightly over his skin. "I hope so," she says. "I hope we never leave this place."

"So do I," d'Artagnan says, voice soft, the words coming easier even than he'd have expected them to. It's something he's known for a while, since she showed up here, albeit in a distant sort of way, but nothing he'd ever put into such concrete terms before. There is a difference, after all, between this place offering them opportunities that they never would have been afforded back in Paris, or even preferring to live here, and hoping they never leave. He does, though, certain of it even without having to stop and give it much thought now. All of Darrow's strange customs and occurrences are more than worth putting up with if it means she gets to be free of her husband, and he gets to live out his days with Constance at his side. "Anything that would mean I'd get to be with you."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

et si le combat prend fin, c'est surement parce qu'on t'as pris par la main

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject