Author's Note: Welcome aboard! This is a multi-chapter fanfic that mostly stays within canon. I will endeavor to update on a regular basis. Athos is the central character, though all the boys will come into play at some point. After all, they are the Inseparables.
As Porthos says, praise and glory are two of my favorite things, so feel free to post reviews. I'm good with constructive criticism too. I don't have a beta, other than my dog, and she easily swayed by a cookie. When you find something incredibly stupid, and you will, please feel free to let me know so I can correct it. I also freely admit I have a love/hate affair with the semi-colon, the comma and the split infinitive. I get the period and the colon. I also have been accused of manufacturing some strangely structured sentences. One last note, my spell checker and I have dueled over d'Artagnan verses D'Artagnan and it bested me at times, so please excuse the occasional capital D.
The first chapter, a short one, sets the stage. Hope you enjoy.
Usual disclaimer. Don't own them. Just playing with them and will put them neatly back on the shelf when I am done.
CHAPTER 1
Had Aramis known what the future would bring, he wouldn't have laid a restraining hand on d'Artagnan's arm, when the man started after Athos that fateful evening. However, a gentle shake of Aramis' head and a quietly spoken 'leave him', halted the youngest Musketeer in his tracks. Athos remained unaware of the little scene playing out behind him, as he brusquely strode out of the Garrison yard, his face as dark as the night that was descending upon France.
Athos' mood over the last two days had grown increasingly obscure and brooding, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his companions. Generally, the Musketeer was known to be moody, flashing quickly between emotions, but always settling back into his default of somberness. An occasional twitch of the lips or smirk might be displayed, but genuine, full-hearted smiles rarely graced his bearded mouth, and when, by the miracle of God they did, it was only for a fleeting moment. Athos believed in courage, duty, honor, integrity, loyalty, respect, and service to his country and his fellow man. What he didn't believe in was allowing himself to escape his self-imposed hell to experience happiness.
"Will he be alright?" d'Artagnan inquired of Aramis, as he watched his mentor fade into the night.
"When is he ever?" Aramis' eyes tracked Athos' departure then focused back on the lad from Gascony. "But he won't thank you for asking or worrying. Not this night. There is something more troubling than usual, pulling at Athos' soul. None of us can stop it tonight, nor I fear, survive its' caliginous shadow."
Unbidden, a little shudder rippled thru Aramis' graceful frame. "No, we best let him go on his own, for now. Porthos will check on him later, retrieve him if need be, and ensure he safely makes it back to his quarters. Sleeping in the gutter…" Aramis didn't finish his sentence but he didn't need too. It was no way for one of the finest swordsmen in France to end up.
Clapping a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, Aramis shook off his solemnity and smiled. "Come. Porthos is playing cards tonight with the Red Guard. A good time should be had by all and perhaps a chance for a bit of profit."
Though he could no longer see Athos, d'Artagnan's gaze remained fixed on the inky sky beyond the Garrison's arched gateway. He alone had witnessed what had happened at the Comte de la Fère's estate in the country, on another dark night that had nearly erased Athos' presence from this world. He had learned then, and didn't forget now that Athos, for all his noble qualities, had the capability to self-destruct.
While the other Musketeers knew in general terms, what happened that night, d'Artagnan, bound by the entreatment of Athos, hadn't told them the whole tale of what had transpired. Aramis and Porthos knew the mansion had been destroyed, but not that Athos had nearly died. Even if d'Artagnan had been able to speak freely of the matter, mere words couldn't convey Athos' mental anguish, as he knelt in the tall grass outside the burning manor. The incident had shaken the younger man to his core, to see how a noble and honorable man that he respected and admired, could be brought to his knees by his own demons. It was a lesson that d'Artagnan couldn't forget; no one is beyond the abyss of madness, given the right circumstances.
For reasons that d'Artagnan couldn't identify, tonight had the whisper of an echo that reverberated back to that fateful night. Even as he finally turned away to follow Aramis, he wondered if he was making a grave mistake.