Disclaimer: The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.
Spoilers: First season.
A/N: This topic has been written about multiple times, but I started working on a tag to the first season finale and this came out instead.
Warning: A character vomits, but it's not discussed in great detail.
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"Revelations come when you're in the thick of it, pitting yourself up against something larger than yourself." – Frank Langella.
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It had taken more than a month before Milady allowed herself to be seen around Paris again. The failed assassination attempt on the Queen had made the Cardinal more cautious in his plotting. For a time, they'd also lost track of his wife's whereabouts, though Athos suspected that she'd still been around doing the Cardinal's bidding one way or another.
In the meantime, the Musketeers had been free to plan for several eventualities. Since his dear wife's ambition seemed to be to cause as much pain as possible by creating a rift between him and d'Artagnan, then that was what he planned to give her. He would have to appear to not care about d'Artagnan and it would have to seem as if his fellow Musketeers had abandoned him. For d'Artagnan to gain that elusive, yet fickle trust, both he and his young friend would have to flatter her conceit that she was the ultimate seductress.
On missions away from Paris, they could be their usual selves and continue on towards a brotherhood that went beyond what was expected as soldiers but more like that of family. He may not be his family by blood, but like Aramis and Porthos, d'Artagnan had managed to become family of the heart. He had a little brother again.
One night, just barely after they'd begun to strategize, their bond had been challenged when they'd discovered that his wife, apparently also known as Milady de Winter, was also d'Artagnan's patroness. They had been discussing Madame de la Chapelle and her fondness for forget-me-nots when d'Artagnan had gone pale as a sheet and rushed out of the room. Dumbstruck by d'Artagnan's behavior, it was several moments before the three of them had rushed out after him. They'd found him outside the back of the inn on his knees attempting to expel everything he'd ate or drank in the past day. He was shaking so badly that he could barely keep himself from falling into his own vomit.
The Gascon had flinched when Aramis had touched his shoulder and then proceeded to resist all attempts to check him for illness. Pushing Aramis away, d'Artagnan had sought him out and looked upon him with such guilt and remorse and loss in his eyes that Athos had nearly been undone and he hadn't yet known what his friend was about to confess to him.
It had come out in fits and starts and upon finishing his story, d'Artagnan had been sick once more though hardly anything was brought up. Of all the people the younger man could have chanced upon his first night in Paris…
That thought alone should have been enough to give him nightmares for months to come. Yet, when he considered all the opportunities that his wife had had to murder his young friend, he was certain those particular nightmares would be his intimate sleeping companions for the foreseeable future.
Mind gone blank, he'd been speechless at the end of d'Artagnan's confession; without any real thought about what he was doing, he walked out into the night away from his friends.
Before they had even met, his wife had seduced d'Artagnan; he couldn't blame the younger man for that when he'd had the very same thing done to him years ago. D'Artagnan had hardly been the first man she had seduced since they'd said their marriage vows and he likely wouldn't be the last.
He was angry – oh so very angry – but not at d'Artagnan. No, he was furious with himself for being too much of a coward to watch his brother's murderer hang for her crimes. Besides Remi, how many other people had died since then because of that cowardice? That same cowardice had ended up condemning another little brother to be used as a pawn in his wife's games, games that had turned out to be much more complex than any of them had previously believed.
Aramis's frightened-sounding shout of d'Artagnan's name had brought him quickly running back to his friends. For a brief moment, he thought he'd seen Thomas lying there, but instead it was D'Artagnan who was slumped over, unconscious in Porthos's arms.
Aramis looked beyond relieved to see his return and explained that when he'd walked away d'Artagnan had begun to panic, thinking Athos despised him and that they would all abandon him for what he'd done. He had been so panicked that he had begun to have trouble breathing, practically choking in his desperate attempts to get air into his lungs. Nothing Aramis and Porthos said would convince d'Artagnan that he wasn't losing his brothers or his best friend and that he wasn't being left with nothing and no one. Overwhelmed by not being able to catch his breath, d'Artagnan had lost consciousness.
Aramis quickly reassured him the d'Artagnan's breathing was fast returning to normal and that there should be no lasting effects, but insisted that they get him to the room as soon as possible. Athos helped Porthos carry d'Artagnan while Aramis cleared a path upstairs. Once in their room, they carefully placed their youngest on one of the two beds. They removed his weapons, doublet, and boots and arranged his limbs so that he'd be more comfortable.
The young Gascon had been through so much in the short time since he'd come to Paris. Perhaps too much given the extreme highs and lows he'd experienced. His losses seemed extreme – his father, his farm along with the majority of his and his family's belongings, and the woman he loves – yet d'Artagnan managed to find the strength to carry on. It made him feel all the more pathetic for turning to wine to get through most days, but oddly enough, it was the young man's determination, his stubbornness, that made him admire d'Artagnan so much, a fact he would likely never admit out loud.
Athos felt certain that had he not earned his commission to the Musketeers when he had, then d'Artagnan's resolve might have taken a blow too difficult to come all the way back from. Selfishly, Athos liked to believe that the greatest balm to d'Artagnan's rumpled soul was the gaining of three older brothers in him, Aramis, and Porthos.
To discover that he'd unknowingly betrayed Athos by bedding his brother's murderer… The shock as well as the misplaced guilt must have made him believe as if his whole world would shortly come crashing down around him. Seeing Athos walk away from him without a word must have convinced him that he would indeed lose everything he had left in the world – his commission and his brothers.
It had probably only been about five or ten minutes since Aramis's frantic yell, but the wait for d'Artagnan to come around had already begun to seem to be interminable. If only he hadn't walked away, but at the time he hadn't been thinking about anything else but himself – yet another failure on his part. He had never meant to hurt d'Artagnan or make him think they would abandon him.
A chair bumped the back of his legs and he looked back to see that Porthos had obtained chairs for them to sit in. When he didn't immediately sit, Aramis nudged his side with his elbow before reminding him that none of this was his fault. He shook his head, it may not be his fault but he still felt mostly responsible. Before settling in to wait for d'Artagnan to regain consciousness, he and the others took time to make themselves more comfortable by removing their own weapons and doublets.
Athos had barely sat down in the chair when d'Artagnan sat straight up in the bed looking frantically looked around the room. When he saw Athos he got up on his knees in the low bed, clasped his hands together in front of him, and started to beg for forgiveness, repeating over and over that he was sorry and that he didn't know. Behind him, both Porthos and Aramis were trying to get d'Artagnan to calm down as their friend's breathing had started to become strained once more. Athos still couldn't bring himself to say anything and couldn't stop staring at the tears which had begun coursing down the young man's face.
In a rare display of sentimentality and affection, he stepped forward, grabbed d'Artagnan and clung to him, practically hugging his friend to within an inch of his life. He couldn't say the words out loud, but he could imbue the hug with everything he was feeling.
Understanding. Forgiveness. Brotherhood. Friendship. Family. Love. All that and more was infused into that crushing hug.
For the first few moments, d'Artagnan stayed completely still in his arms, obviously alarmed by the out-of-character action, but then he'd shuddered once and returned the hug just as fiercely. D'Artagnan had understood his intentions, the message that lay within his hug, and had responded in kind.
When he'd finally released d'Artagnan and pulled back, maintaining contact with the younger man's shoulder, he self-consciously looked behind him and saw that his friends both appeared a little shocked by his behavior. They'd never seen him be so physically demonstrative of his emotions and yet he'd just given the most brazen display of emotion Aramis and Porthos had ever seen from him. It had been just what his little brother had desperately needed from him in that moment and he would not deny that he'd needed it too.
They were being manipulated by his lying, murdering wife, being set up to be rivals going at each other's throats whenever she deemed it to be the right moment. Their advantage was that Milady had not yet recognized that she had already lost the game long before the confessions of that night. Her plan seemed to hinge on the two of them never finding out about their connection to her and that d'Artagnan's loyalties could so easily be swayed, but that plan had begun to unravel the night she'd attempted to burn him alive in his mansion.
D'Artagnan had somehow known to come back for him, defying all orders to the contrary. His friend had risked his life to search for him in a burning building, had risked a gruesome death to save his unworthy hide. He'd also kept his word to not tell the others what had happened despite Aramis's efforts to wheedle information out of him.
Athos hadn't meant to blurt out the truth about his wife that night but he had, but d'Artagnan had been nothing but supportive in the aftermath. Their fledgling friendship had been strengthened that night, and they had only continued to grow closer from then on. And, in the following weeks, the friendships between Aramis and Porthos and d'Artagnan had also grown stronger.
One night some time ago, the three of them had been out to a tavern for a drink without d'Artagnan. The Gascon had been assigned the night watch at the garrison; for if he was to become a Musketeer, then he needed to learn everything he could about soldering no matter how tedious the task. More than once, one of them had turned wanting to say something to d'Artagnan but forgetting that he was not there. That night they had all realized that three had become four, that d'Artagnan was truly one of them despite not yet having received a commission to the Musketeers. It was on that night that his wife had unknowingly ceded her advantage over them.
Athos squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder one last time and stepped back, giving his friend space and time to regain his composure. D'Artagnan shifted to sit down on the bed, not looking at them and wiping tears from his face even as he continued to whisper apologies over and over again for his faults.
Porthos was the first to finally recover from the shock of Athos's emotional display; he stepped forward to gently cuff the back of d'Artagnan's head. D'Artagnan stopped his continuous mumbling mid-word to glare up at him, and that, was that. They were back to being the brothers they were always meant to be.
Athos gestured for d'Artagnan to get off the bed and they pushed it up against the wall. Aramis got in the bed and sat up against the wall, Porthos followed sitting on the marksman's right. D'Artagnan's stance screamed his hesitation to join them, as if he was doubtful of his right to be there. Athos came up behind him having retrieved a wineskin from his things, and placed a hand on their youngest's shoulder, gently propelling him forward towards the bed. The Gascon nodded once and moved to sit on Aramis's other side with Athos settling on d'Artagnan's left.
They looked fairly ridiculous sitting there shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning against the wall and with the bed barely wide enough to comfortably accommodate their long legs stretched out straight before them. None of them cared about that though as they passed the wineskin back and forth between them. They didn't say much and were content to just be there for each other after all the recent revelations and emotional fallout.
Understandably, d'Artagnan was the first to drop off to sleep. Athos had been about to ask for the wineskin when his young friend's head had come to a rest on his shoulder. Aramis had noticed and started to vacate the bed so that d'Artagnan could be moved into a more comfortable sleeping position. It had been Porthos's turn to share a bed with their youngest, but after what had happened earlier in the night, there was no question that Athos should be his bedfellow that night. But when Aramis nudged Porthos and indicated that they should head off to their own bed, Athos had quietly asked for them to remain where they were a while longer.
Just this once he would allow himself to indulge in the comfort provided by his friends' presence. And just this once, he would indulge himself and allow the intimacy of d'Artagnan's sleeping position. It reminded him of a time or two when Thomas had fallen asleep against him when they were young children.
Perhaps that was really why he was allowing it – he had a little brother again. And maybe, just maybe, Thomas had somehow known that he'd needed that again in his life. Perhaps God was being merciful and was giving him a second chance to protect a younger brother from his monster of a wife.
The plan that had begun forming in his mind would be difficult on all of them. The genesis of it had come to light because of what they had gone through that night, but he abhorred the very idea of putting them through it all again – even if it was all to be an act. The fact that he was having trouble with the idea of risking d'Artagnan's life no matter the plan was an obstacle he was going to have to learn to overcome. If this was to be his second chance, then how could he risk his little brother's life? However, without d'Artagnan, he could not see how they could have any hope of revealing the Cardinal's treasonous acts.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Exhausted but not yet ready to sleep, he was content for the moment to simply rest and bask in the presence of his brothers. A few minutes later, he felt the bed shift a few times. Opening his eyes to make sure d'Artagnan's sleep had not been interrupted, he was confronted with Aramis's smiling face and part of a blanket. Porthos had already spread a portion over his chest and with Aramis's help they covered d'Artagnan. There wasn't much blanket left over for him, but he didn't mind as the warmth his younger brother's body generated helped to make up the difference.
It may not have been the most comfortable sleeping position and their backs would most certainly loudly protest it in the morning, but after the revelations of the night and the difficulties of their most recent mission, Athos suspected that none of them would truly mind the inconvenience.
Thoughts of his nascent plan and everything that could go wrong kept him from falling asleep for a long time. Minutes or hours later, d'Artagnan shifted in his sleep, burrowing closer into his side and causing the blanket to slip a bit. The movements brought him out of his ever darker ruminations and he found his thoughts shifting to happier times with his brothers.
He opened his eyes and noted that the candles alight in the room were just minutes from going out. In the light that remained, he saw that his dearest friends in the world were all deeply asleep. Content at the sight, he adjusted the blanket so that it was covering d'Artagnan better before leaning his head back against the wall.
In seconds, he was asleep.
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The end.
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A/N: No beta; mistakes are a fact of life.
Thanks for reading!