This story is a virtual gift to the amazing AZGirl on her birthday. She was kind enough to give me a list of prompts that guided this story, and I've done my best to incorporate them here. Hope you're having a wonderful birthday, my friend, and I hope you enjoy your story!

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

- Confucius

It had to be their most ridiculous assignment to date – escort for a wealthy English merchant, his heavily-armed entourage and the beast. That they would be asked to accompany an Englishman was almost unheard of, but there had been no reasoning with Louis once he'd heard about the merchant's prized possession. No amount of persuasion had moved the stubborn royal, and Treville had withdrawn his appeal, swallowing his frustrated sigh even as he racked his brain, already dreading the mission he'd have to assign to his four best men.

The foursome he had in mind were informally known as the Inseparables. While they'd seemed complete as a trio, d'Artagnan had effortlessly integrated himself into their midst, the others giving way as though having been waiting for his arrival before reforming seamlessly yet again into a new, and somehow better whole.

While the four considered each other family, there was also no doubt that the foursome contained two sets of unique partnerships, each of which further strengthened the entire group. Aramis and Porthos would undoubtedly always be drawn to one another, despite the fact that they would willingly give their lives for either of the others. Athos and d'Artagnan inexplicably behaved in a similar manner, each of them finding in the other something that was lacking in himself. There was a time when Treville would have tried to decipher the complex inner workings of these four men, but now he just knew better and left well enough alone.

As he'd expected, the Inseparables were less than thrilled with their latest mission. Aramis was offended at the idea of escorting an Englishman, while Athos was irate that their skills would be wasted in such a fashion. Porthos simply snorted at yet another of Louis' ridiculous orders, while d'Artagnan looked on in utter confusion as the Captain did his best to hold onto his temper. In the end, Treville's anger could not be contained and it had proven effective in silencing Athos and Aramis, the former man especially vocal about all the reasons why someone else should be assigned to the mission. With a stern warning about what would happen if they failed ringing in their ears, the four had set out for Calais, early Fall rains dogging them for the majority of their journey.

The weather hadn't improved anyone's disposition, especially now that their numbers had swollen to thirteen men – unlucky thirteen, Aramis had stated when they'd first met up with the rich merchant. Athos had dismissed the comment with a firm glare, the look brooking no argument, but underneath his calm façade he could not ignore his gut's warning that danger lay ahead. Resolutely, he pushed the feeling aside and they'd set out for the long journey home.

As expected, the Englishmen kept mostly to themselves, the merchant the only one among them who spoke French, while his hired soldiers relied on hostile glares to convey their dissatisfaction with the current arrangement. That they should be grateful to be allowed to pass through France, armed as they were, apparently never even entered their minds, and Athos concluded that they were nothing more than hired thugs – well-paid, no doubt, but still nothing more than purchased muscle.

The merchant himself, a man named Cavendish, had conversed with Athos once he'd found out the Musketeer had held the title of Comte. The information had been shared by Porthos on their first day together, and Athos was still contemplating how exactly he would pay his friend back for his accidental slip of the tongue. Regardless of Athos' feelings on the situation, the knowledge had made things easier, and the Englishman had become both friendlier and more amenable upon learning he was being accompanied by former nobility.

As such, he'd regaled the former Comte with tales of the East, explaining how he'd made his fortune in India, trading spices and various other wares with eager customers across Europe. Athos had nodded in all the right places, although he was privately appalled at some of the exorbitant prices people were willing to pay, and throughout it all he wondered how he would let Porthos know exactly how much he'd enjoyed his time with the merchant.

The weather finally began to favor them as they neared Paris, the skies clearing and the sun shining brightly as it attempted to dry out the waterlogged ground. By that point, Athos was certain that his jaw was permanently locked into place as he was forced to smile at everything Cavendish said while ensuring that none of his true thoughts were voiced. Finally, the merchant had retreated to the comfort of his coach, and Athos was grateful for the reprieve. The continuous restraint was giving him a headache, and he lifted his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, lowering his head and closing his eyes for a moment as his horse followed behind the others.

"Athos, are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly. He kept his voiced pitched lowly so that no one else would hear.

The older man lifted his head and opened his eyes, allowing his hand to drop back to his lap as he replied, "I'm fine."

The Gascon doubted his mentor's assertion, the last few weeks having worn on all of them, but especially Athos. Thankfully they'd be in Paris by nightfall where they could give Cavendish over to the protection of the Red Guards. Deciding that a distraction might be in order, d'Artagnan asked, "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

Athos' eyes were automatically drawn to the grey behemoth ahead of them, its odd, lumbering wake belying the strength and speed contained within. He shook his head as he replied, "Never."

"Do you think it's true that Monsieur Cavendish sometimes rides it?" the Gascon questioned, the awe clear in his expression as he gazed at the large beast.

Athos shrugged noncommittally, certain that at least half of what he'd been told by the merchant had been exaggeration and lies. Despite that, he'd heard stories from others that suggested there could be some truth to this particular statement. More importantly, it was likely that the King believed it to be true and was hoping for a chance to ride it himself. An unbidden image of Louis sitting astride the mammoth appeared in Athos' mind, and he shook his head to make it go away.

Instead, he forced himself to focus on the group ahead of them, he and d'Artagnan at this point riding at their rear. At their head were Aramis and Porthos, and Athos trusted that they would warn of any impending danger. Following them were the merchant's men, the eight of them scattered loosely around Cavendish's carriage. Trailing behind on a long, thick rope was the beast the merchant had brought with him, and many, many feet behind it were Athos and d'Artagnan. Unfortunately, they'd learned the hard way earlier on that it was not a good idea to ride to close to the large, lumbering brute, since the waste it left behind was staggering in its volume and smell.

"I bet I could ride it," d'Artagnan stated, his words bringing Athos back to the present.

The older man rolled his eyes at the Gascon's youthful exuberance even as he asked, "Why on earth would you want to ride such a thing?" His free hand came down to unconsciously stroke his horse's neck, the animal beneath him a pleasant mix of strength and beauty.

"Oh, come on, Athos," d'Artagnan started as he looked at his mentor with a look of surprise. "Wouldn't you like to be able to say you'd done it?"

"No." The answer came quickly and without hesitation, and d'Artagnan found himself pulling up on the reins of his horse as he pinned the older man with a questioning look.

Athos stopped as well and met the Gascon's gaze as the younger man repeated, "No?" A shake of the older man's head confirmed his earlier assertion, having absolutely no interest in getting on the back of anything other than his trusted steed. "Really?" d'Artagnan questioned, still unable to believe his mentor's disinterest, and Athos shook his head firmly once more. "Huh," the Gascon finally said, accepting that he would never see the older man on top of the beast.

As d'Artagnan processed what he'd heard, Athos waited patiently, his lips quirking slightly as the Gascon's adventurous streak showed itself. The young man's thrill-seeking side had been tempered since he'd joined their ranks, but times like these reminded him that d'Artagnan was still young and subject to occasional flights of fancy. It was unlikely that the Gascon had even considered the dangers associated with what he was proposing, instead caught up in the fantasy of how it would feel to control such a beast – if that was even possible.

Athos waited a moment longer before nudging the young man gently with his knee, their two horses standing close enough together to allow the contact. Once he had d'Artagnan's attention, he motioned towards the others who'd travelled some distance in the time since they'd stopped. "Ready to catch up?"

With a gleam in his eye, d'Artagnan kicked his heels into his horse's flanks, nudging the animal quickly into a canter and then a gallop. Athos followed swiftly in his friend's wake, a rare grin flashing across his face as he chased after the young man, the two of them closing the gap between themselves and the others. The short race ended too quickly, and d'Artagnan found himself pulling up on his reins almost at once, slowing his horse back to a trot in preparation to walk.

Before he had the chance to slow down further, his mount abruptly whinnied and shied to the side, the Gascon unprepared for the erratic change. Even as he was working to rebalance himself, his horse stopped abruptly and tossed its head towards the ground. Still unsettled from earlier, d'Artagnan was helpless to stop himself from flying over his horse's head, and he had only a moment to brace for the expected impact with the ground.

Stunned by his abrupt landing, it took d'Artagnan several moments to open his eyes and bring his vision into focus. His head throbbed and his body ached, and a part of his jumbled mind recognized that something was wrong. As he blinked slowly in an effort to clear his sight, his gaze sharpened on a patch of blue above him, but the view seemed somehow wrong. Rolling his head to one side, he was surprised to find himself surrounded by rocks and dirt, rather than the grass and trees they'd been alternately riding through.

Letting his head loll further to the side, his gaze was drawn to Athos' dirt-streaked face, the older man lying partially on his back, and partially covered with dirt and debris. Still confused from the fall, d'Artagnan hesitantly asked, "Athos?"

The older man's expression hardened as he looked up to the sky, uttering a solitary phrase. "Damn elephant."

To be continued...

A/N: Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined. Next chapter will be up tomorrow.