Title: The Peasantry
By: Tidia
Beta: None, mistakes my own
Disclaimer: No profit made on BBC characterizations.
Notes: This was written for the following prompt: D'Artagnan knows a lot about horses and working in stables from having taken an interest when he was young. He does come from the country, and there is a farm on his family's land... but he's a little bit confused by this whole 'poor farm boy' and 'peasant' business.
This was also written for Raouldehadleyfraser/ JEAikman because it is a non-angst story about d'Artagnan.
So in truth the d'Artagnan part is his mother's maiden name, but I didn't want to go in that direction.
d'Artagnan got up from the table. There was no mission and he promised Jacques that he would look at one of the horses who seemed to be ailing. D'Artagnan liked helping at the stable with the horses as it reminded him of home. He had taken an interest in horses, then his father would take him on buying and selling trips. His father always said he could talk to horses, coax them to follow him.
"d'Artagnan, a moment please," Athos stopped him. "Join us for a moment?"
"I promised Jacques," d'Artagnan started, but then saw this was more than a request. "I'm coming." He could help Jacques as soon as he was liberated.
The Gascon followed Athos to Aramis's room. Porthos was already there, sitting at Aramis's table. Aramis was leaning over Porthos. "You convinced him. I knew he would see how important a learned mind is for a musketeer." Aramis gestured for d'Artagnan to sit.
He did as was asked, but was confused. "Learned mind?" A book, paper and pen was pushed in front of him.
"Being a musketeer means you need to expand your education past weapons and horses." Athos explained, opening the book and flipping to a page. "You will find that books hold the secrets of tactics and diplomacy."
D'Artagnan was now even more confused. Porthos gave him an encouraging smile. "It's not too bad. They taught me how to read and write."
"And manners," Aramis added with a bow. "It's why the Queen shows me favor."
"I can read and write." D'Artagnan tried to stand up, but there was a firm hand on his shoulder.
"That's good, then you would not mind reading this." Athos pointed to the page.
D'Artagnan read the passage first, recognizing it from a Shakespeare play. They had acted many of the plays out at home, him with his family. He read out the passage,
"Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone."
D'Artagnan thought this would prove and satisfy the musketeers.
"Well done," Aramis exclaimed. "What does it mean, though?"
"Wait a minute. You gave him William Shakespeare, and I got The Life of Saint Teresa of Ávila? That's not fair." He pushed the book about the Spanish nun away.
Athos raised a brown at Aramis. "Really? That's a poor choice."
"It's about contemplation." Aramis was nonplussed. "Fine though, let's get back to the meaning of those fine lines."
D'Artagnan did not know if he should be insulted or touched by their efforts. His family was an old noble family. They no longer had the funds they used to have, but they still had tenants and earned income from those that farmed on their lands. They thought him a peasant farm boy. He liked reading, but thought he could be spending his time better elsewhere. One look at Porthos, made him decide that he had to remain. He would have to wait to extricate himself.
"Is it about a woman?" d'Artagnan asked knowing well that is was a description of the night. "All those flowery words?"
Aramis smiled. "I would not use those words on any woman. What woman thinks snoring is romantic?"
They all laughed, and d'Artagnan was finding it difficult now to let his amusement show as the lesson progressed into courtly behavior.
"So you like lace, but Athos does not?" d'Artagnan was comparing the cuffs on Athos and Aramis's shirts.
"That's not what this is about," Athos said, obviously not amused. "Pay attention."
D'Artagnan caught Porthos's gaze, the larger man narrowed his eyes, gave a smirk then schooled his features. "Are we done yet?" Porthos asked.
"Yes, yes." Athos waved them off. "I need a drink."
"Next time write a poem," Aramis said, cleaning up the table.
"Like a school marm," Porthos quipped, then caught up to the Gascon who was halfway down the stairs. "d'Artagnan, can we speak privately?"
They walked to a deserted area of the garrison "I admire you, Porthos and Aramis and Athos are good tutors," d'Artagnan started. He did not want his friend insulted. He had seen the Court of Miracles and knew the strength of character it took for Porthos to make a new life for himself, to better himself.
Porthos looked away for a moment, embarrassed. "But you don't need it."
D'Artagnan shook his head. "I had a tutor and education at home in Lupiac."
"I figured as much." Porthos gestured in the vague vicinity of Aramis's room. "They think you're a simple peasant farm boy. How would you like to have some fun?" Porthos had a devious mind, and d'Artagnan was quick to join in besting the older men in something.
Aramis had given an assignment to write a poem. D'Artagnan had to struggle to remain impassive as he read his poem at the next class. He used the harshest words in the Gascon language, almost wincing himself at the guttural tones.
"What language was that?" Athos said slowly as if trying to rein in his comments.
"Gascon, of course." D'Artagnan gave a sincere, eager smile. Porthos said that he needed to look like a puppy that was in need of attention. "It's easier to write out my thoughts when I think about them in my own language."
"Not French?" Aramis asked, taking the paper from d'Artagnan's hands, written in his worst scrawl.
"It's a good poem." D'Artagnan added lying with eagerness he did not know he had over some lines that his mother would have beaten him for were she alive.
"What's it about?" Athos was trying to find some redeeming quality in the poem.
d'Artagnan but the side of his mouth to keep his smirk in place and did not allow his gaze to fall to Porthos or else all would be lost. "You didn't understand it?"
"No." Athos stated.
"A boy and his dog." There was actually some gibberish about ship and some insults about the size of their, well, they did not need to know the particulars.
Aramis sighed, patting d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "We have a lot of work to do."
((()))
They next time they met, Aramis insisted on the proper dancing forms. Even d'Artagnan did not know how he ended taking Aramis and Athos to the floor with him. He may have been a bit over zealous in his shenanigans.
As it was Porthos had taken him to a tavern a little farther away than their normal haunts, and could not contain his mirth trying to re-enact d'Artagnan's performance. "My favorite part was when you said," Porthos gasped for air before continuing, "this isn't like sword work at all."
"Aramis did say that he could not understand how someone who could hold I blade like me could be so incompetent."
"It was probably that thing you did with your hands." Porthos tried to imitate it, but was less than successful.
"Too much?" d'Artagnan filled up his wine cup again. "I think I am taking you away from your studies."
"I'm learning." Porthos raised his glass in a mock toast to the younger man. "I've never seen Athos so flustered."
Athos was struggling not to be angry as he thought that d'Artagnan's efforts were sincere, but d'Artagnan watched as his mentor had to take calming breaths. As much as the Gascon was enjoying the play acting and the bonding experience with Porthos, he did not want to anger Aramis and Athos. "I have an idea on how to conclude this."
"Do we have to?" Porthos again attempted the twisting, waving motion that d'Artagnan had used in the dance only to chuckle.
d'Artagnan nodded and raised his glass as Porthos had refilled it.
It was a week later when the opportunity arose. They were allowed to pick any book and then chose a passage to read. They were in Athos's lodging, which made the choosing easier. D'Artagnan picked a familiar book.
"How can anyone be silly enough to think himself better than other people, because his clothes are made of finer woolen thread than theirs. After all, those fine clothes were once worn by a sheep, and they never turned it into anything better than a sheep."
He concluded to stunned silence. Athos opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "That was in Latin."
"Ita vero," d'Artagnan answered Athos's question in the affirmative.
"You know Latin," Aramis stated as if studying the younger man as a specimen.
d'Artagnan handed the book to Aramis. "Utopia was written in Latin."
Aramis passed the book back to Athos. "But, you're a farm boy from Gascony."
"I'm Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan" The younger man gave a courtly bow. "My family owns land in Lupiac. We no longer have the wealth from the old nobility, but I still grew up in the home of a gentleman." He finally had the opportunity to change their impression of him.
"And the horses?" Athos had sat down, raking a hand through his hair.
d'Artagnan smiled wondering if it was his time in the stable that had led them to believe in his lower status. "I like horses." He shrugged.
"We stand corrected." Athos gave him a nod.
In the meantime, Porthos's head had fallen to the table as he could not stop laughing.
"Porthos, are you all right?" Aramis asked, and Porthos placed his hand up in response. "You knew!"
"Of course I did. I'm wise, unlike you two." Porthos lifted his head, wiped away the tears of mirth.
"The dancing?" Athos drank from the bottle of wine on the table, evidently trying to forget the horror of d'Artagnan's movements.
"Made up." Porthos again tried the flourish with his hands.
Aramis sank down in the chair at the table. "I thought you were having a fit."
They all laughed. Porthos explaining how infrequent it was to be able to trick Aramis and Athos, which led to stories, and more wine with d'Artagnan teaching them curse words in Gascon. You never know when they would come to be useful.
The End