(no subject)

[somepoorsoul]

[Because Athos makes himself awfully difficult to understand sometimes, and sometimes I just gotta sort out his thoughts for him.]

I do not understand it.

Once we were soldiers, devoted to king and country and our brotherhood. Even then I knew that I was only being given a short time with them; eventually, I would lose Aramis to the Church and Porthos to a wife, though as the years went on, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, we would all remain Musketeers until God took us from the earth.

And then Darrow happened, and I found them overtaken by this passion for domesticity. They have exchanged pursuits I understood for downright womanly ones: obsessive homemaking, mothering infants (they do not even intend to hire a nurse, I understand), peace and marriage. They do not merely want to be fathers, but <i>parents</i> in the way of modern men - but they are not modern men, and neither am I. We may be closer than ever, but I see them drifting into these new roles where I cannot follow, where I have neither the skills to offer, nor the temperament to adapt, and my presence is unneeded. Selfish though I know it is, I want to cling to them a little longer, keep them to myself now that I have finally, finally allowed them into my heart and bed. Sometimes I think of bargaining for even a few extra months, for all the good it will do.

I will lose them after all, to this dream I never knew they had. And it frightens me.

I do not understand it.

They show me a book of woman’s faces and expect me to admire it. I try to give them the answers they want, but frankly, it makes my stomach turn. They have good hearts - they see nothing untoward in this surrogacy business, and I have tried to follow their lead - but all I can think is that they are buying a child off a woman they do not know. I fear that she will either swindle them, or she will weep when they take her infant, and I wish to God that I could shield them from either miserable possibility. T’would be better for their hearts if one of Aramis’ liaisons did arrive with an infant in tow - even the Queen and the Dauphin, God help us - for the child would have a mother, and Aramis the progeny he so longs for, and at least we would know where everyone truly stood on the matter, without these unnatural machinations.

They will sign papers, ensnare themselves in legal schemes and monetary agreements, and I do not know that I can protect them.

I do not understand it.

Porthos thinks me wise. Aramis insists that I will be the perfect guardian to these children of his blood. How can they believe such things of me? I am a weak man, susceptible to drink and prone to melancholia that creeps upon me without reason. And I am cold, and harsh, and difficult to love. Let Porthos bring into our house these youths who need to be nudged upon a better path - that is a task I am familiar with, and though I cannot claim to be a great teacher, I think I have done more good than harm to young recruits. But children? I will frighten them at best and corrupt them at worst. Who in their right mind would allow me near such innocents, knowing how much goodness has gone rotten under my touch? Thank God Anne never fell pregnant, through barrenness or some scheme (woman of her sort have their ways, I think with stomach roiling), and no infant had to suffer under my influence - or hers. I would spare a child born of the men I love best such a fate as well.

I do not understand it, not their dreams, or their methods, or their faith in me, no matter how I try. And that frightens me terribly.