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Feb. 9th, 2015 10:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somepoorsoulEvery time Athos takes the ring out of his pocket, he is struck anew by its brilliance. The sapphire at its center is a deep and unblemished blue, the diamonds that circle it bead-like and cut to catch every ray of light. He still remembers his mother wearing it when he was a child, how it could turn the most gentle and delicate woman he has ever known into something more powerful and regal. From the moment he had placed it on Anne’s finger, she had become an unstoppable force.
Even in the darkness of the shop’s interior, the ring seems to glow when he places it on the jewelry case, and the shopkeeper instinctively leans closer.
“How much?” Athos asks.
The jeweler stares at him in surprise, and then lifts it between thumb and forefinger. Athos has to stop himself from snatching it away. “Where did you get this?”
“How much?”
Picking up a magnifier, the jeweler slots his face into a more neutral expression. “There’s a chip right here. Too bad, really. It’s an amazing specimen. eight karat sapphire, French Renaissance setting. But that chip…”
“How much?” Athos rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, a gesture that tends to do wonders for a man’s concentration.
It works. “Eight. I can do eight thousand dollars. Because of the chip.” Athos does not reply, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. “Nine. But I can’t go any higher.” Athos lifts his chin. “All right. Ten. Ten thousand dollars. And if you ask me, you’re complete crazy for selling it. It’s genuine sixteenth century, isn’t it?”
Athos inclines inclines his head, the smile that comes briefly to his lips is both triumphant and a little sad. This is his mother’s ring, his wife’s ring that he now hands over to a greedy hawker of baubles that cannot know the precious thing he holds. The ring has haunted him, and horrified him, and sustained him. And though he leaves a little bit of himself behind in that jewelry shop, he knows he must see it gone. Porthos and Aramis deserve no less than the gift this money will buy him. And maybe Athos deserves the peace it earns him, too.
Folding up the note the man had written him, with its official-looking signature and excess of zeros, Athos steps out of the shop and onto the street.
Even in the darkness of the shop’s interior, the ring seems to glow when he places it on the jewelry case, and the shopkeeper instinctively leans closer.
“How much?” Athos asks.
The jeweler stares at him in surprise, and then lifts it between thumb and forefinger. Athos has to stop himself from snatching it away. “Where did you get this?”
“How much?”
Picking up a magnifier, the jeweler slots his face into a more neutral expression. “There’s a chip right here. Too bad, really. It’s an amazing specimen. eight karat sapphire, French Renaissance setting. But that chip…”
“How much?” Athos rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, a gesture that tends to do wonders for a man’s concentration.
It works. “Eight. I can do eight thousand dollars. Because of the chip.” Athos does not reply, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. “Nine. But I can’t go any higher.” Athos lifts his chin. “All right. Ten. Ten thousand dollars. And if you ask me, you’re complete crazy for selling it. It’s genuine sixteenth century, isn’t it?”
Athos inclines inclines his head, the smile that comes briefly to his lips is both triumphant and a little sad. This is his mother’s ring, his wife’s ring that he now hands over to a greedy hawker of baubles that cannot know the precious thing he holds. The ring has haunted him, and horrified him, and sustained him. And though he leaves a little bit of himself behind in that jewelry shop, he knows he must see it gone. Porthos and Aramis deserve no less than the gift this money will buy him. And maybe Athos deserves the peace it earns him, too.
Folding up the note the man had written him, with its official-looking signature and excess of zeros, Athos steps out of the shop and onto the street.
