"What's wrong with him?"

"Have you forgotten about the massacre at Savoy?"

At Porthos' words, Athos sighed, briefly closing his eyes in silent admonishment. Of course, how could he have been so insensitive. They had known of the Duke's impending arrival for several weeks, and not once had Athos considered the effect it was bound to have on his friend. The events that had occurred five years previously were rarely mentioned. Least of all by the person most affected. Ignoring d'Artaganan's inquiry, he stole another glance at Aramis, the marksman's expression was once again unreadable. At the time of the massacre, Athos had been a little preoccupied with his own demons. He had only just begun to become a functioning citizen of France again, limiting his drinking to that of an evening pursuit and not the all day affair it had become since that faithful day in July. Savoy. He had almost forgotten that it was there, in that minute principality, that he so very nearly lost the boy who would become one of his closest friends. He had lost a brother, he had lost a wife, but cruel as those events were, they had led him to Treville and his fledgling regiment of soldiers. They led him to Aramis and Porthos. Before he could give anymore thought to it, the Duke's carriage rolled noisily into the grounds of the palace.

Paris, 1625

He wasn't there to make friends. He didn't want a family. He had tried that. He would do his duty as a soldier, devote his life in the service of France and the King, but his evenings were his own. He did not want to interact with his fellow musketeers when off duty. He respected their need to socialise, to blow off steam, but he was not a necessary component in that endeavour. Most had given up, allowing him to sit by himself in whatever out of the way tavern took his fancy. Most were either too scared of his temper, or too offended by his aloofness to waste anymore energy. Most, but not all. One young musketeer in particular was beginning to get on his nerves. They were not yet on a first name basis, and Athos hoped this would keep him at arms length, but this handsome and charming young man seemed intent on trying to get past Athos' considerable defences. Athos could not understand why. That smile. That wide grin which revealed perfect white teeth just encouraged the former Comte to scowl all the more. He had no doubt that in every other area of the young musketeers life, that smile worked to his advantage, but Athos resolutely refused to be taken in by it. One evening, after a busy and demanding day, Athos had slinked off to a little known tavern, even further away than usual from the regular musketeer haunts. What he didn't realise however, was that he had been followed. As he settled down with a bottle of a red, in the darkest, quietest corner he could find, approaching footseps forced him to look up. That smile greeted him. On this occasion, however, that smile didn't quite reach the young musketeer's eyes. Understanding soon dawned on the older musketeer; they had both been witness to an execution that day. A beheading, not a hanging, Athos thanked God for small mercies. The criminal deserved it, Athos was in no doubt of that, but he suspected that the young musketeer was not so used to seeing just how cruel the hand of justice could be. Having elected to drink straight from the bottle, he filled the cup that had come with the wine and, in a fit of what he could only describe as madness, offered it to the musketeer. A frown creased the younger man's features, but he pulled out the vacant chair from underneath the table, took a seat and reached for the proffered cup. Athos raised his bottle, in acknowledgment. No words were spoken for several minutes and Athos surprised himself yet again by being the first to break the silence.

"It doesn't get any easier."

The young musketeer looked at him, nodding. He twisted the cup between his fingers, staring into it's depths.

"I've seen people die before." He spoke softly, barely audible over the din of the busy tavern. "I've killed people, but…," he trailed off.

"To see someone killed with no means to defend themselves, unarmed, to simply have their life extinguished at the behest of those who deem their actions to be unjust…"

The younger man nodded, seeming to take comfort in Athos' words, to know that he was not alone in his struggle to reconcile his duties as a musketeer with compassion for his fellow man.

"Athos", the former Comte offered as he refilled the boy's cup.

"Aramis;", the younger musketeer replied.