After everything that had happened, to have the King order a man killed after giving his word to pardon him, after he had pardoned Milady no less, D'Artagnan found himself at a loss. Not to mention how a good man had died, leaving a wife and child behind with little hope. D'Artagnan and his friends had tried to help them as best they could with what meager coins they had to spare.
It had been a long couple of days and D'Artagnan felt bruised and battered in spirit, mind and body. The thing that haunted him most was that the King had thought himself to be bestowing a grand honor on D'Artagnan by allowing him to execute the man he had pardoned. To keep his temper and calmly reply that he was a 'soldier, not an executioner' had been most difficult. Only knowing that he must present himself with honor as a Musketeer had kept D'Artagnan from speaking his true feelings to the King.
Guilt and sadness lingered with him, making his heart lie heavy in his chest. Anger swirled amongst the sadness and D'artagnan had no outlet for any of it and it made him feel as if his skin was too tight and he was suffocating. In desperation he turned to Porthos, asking the big man to spar with him.
For over and hour D'Artagnan hurled himself at Porthos, knowing his friend could take anything he dished out and it helped some, to physically wear himself down. He would have continued on for another hour if Porthos hadn't called a halt, stating that he was hungry and needed a break.
Athos and Aramis were already sitting at the table and Athos gestured for D'Artagnan to sit beside him.
"I'm not hungry," D'Artagnan countered, waving away the offer. "I think I'll go for a run." He had always enjoyed running, even as a child, racing through the fields with the sun on his face and challenging himself to go ever faster. It had pleased him when Aramis had once commented that he ran like the wind.
"You should eat first," Aramis stated, gesturing to the bread and cheese on the table.
D'Artagnan had lacked an appetite these past few days. He ate because it was necessary to keep up his strength, but food tasted like ash in his mouth. "I'll eat when I get back," he promised, before heading out of the Garrison at an easy lope. He weaved in and out of the streets until he reached the outskirts and then he pushed himself to run full out, racing fast and sure over the hard-packed ground until he felt a burn in every muscle of his body and he finally came to a halt when he felt as if he couldn't catch his breath.
He walked off the burn, feeling better somehow, a bit lighter and less like he wanted to jump out of his skin. It was near dark when he returned to the Garrison and D'Artagnan checked in with Treville and was pleased to learn there was no mission and he was free for the night. He apologized for being gone so long and Treville told him smiled at him.
"I know you've been having a hard time after what happened with the King, D'Artagnan," the Captain stated. "We've all had times when we need to work things out in our head. I'd rather you took the time to do that now rather than when you're out in the field. Oh, and before I forget, Athos wanted me to send you to the Tavern. They've gathered their for dinner, he said you'd know which one."
"Thank you, Captain," D'Artagnan replied, offering a bow before turning and heading out. He went to his room for clean clothes then made his way to the bath house. He got cleaned up, drying his hair as best he could, left his dirty clothes with the laundress along with some coin, then he headed for the tavern.
Porthos was the first to spot him, waving D'Artagnan over to their corner table. "We ordered some stew for you," he said, pointing to the full bowl set in front of the empty chair.
D'Artagnan appreciated the sentiment, but offered the bowl up to Porthos. "I'm not really hungry," he stated, stepping around Athos so that he could sit down.
"Eat." Athos touched the bowl of stew, pushing it towards him.
"Athos," D'artagnan began, only to break off when the older Musketeer pinned him with a glare. Heaving a sigh, D'Artagnan picked up the spoon and took a bite. It was a hearty stew and rich with flavor, but he just wasn't interested in eating.
Aramis reached out to pour wine into D'Artagnan's goblet. "Porthos has a card game set up for later," he said. "A couple of merchants with money in their pockets and eager to lose it. You interested?"
D'Artagnan shook his head even as he pushed the bowl towards Porthos. After being tutored by the bigger man, D'Artagnan had become a skilled player, but he knew he wouldn't be able to focus tonight. "I'm tired so I think I'll call it an early night."
"Stay for a bit," Athos beseeched, before D'Artagnan could rise. "Talk to us."
"Since when do any of you like to talk?" D'Artagnan countered, gaping at them each in turn.
Porthos shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of the stew D'Artagnan gave him before replying, "The lad has a point. Talkin's not really our strong suit."
Aramis looked offended. "I love to talk, I talk all the time."
"Love poem and bible passages perhaps," Athos drawled.
"There's nothing to talk about anyway," D'Artagnan interjected, before they could try to turn attention back around to him. "I'm feeling a bit unsettled, but I'll work it out."
Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "Stay with us for a bit then and we'll distract you. You can watch me win money."
D'Artagnan chuckled and agreed to stay for a time. He let himself indulge in a second goblet of wine, relaxing in his chair and letting the conversation in and around them filter over him. Until he heard a loud voice speak the King's name.
"...he's a good and kind King is Louis..." said a raspy voice.
"He doesn't care about us and our hardships," countered a harsh voice.
Raspy voice defended the King. "He does what he can for us, he does. He's said so and he's a man of his word, he is!"
The voices rose, each man defending their own opinion until fists began to fly, along with glasses and chairs and Porthos was the first to join in the fray.
D'Artagnan pushed his chair back, ducking a flying bottle, but his thoughts were on the one man's words. His defense of King Louis being a man of his word. D'Artagnan had once believed that to be so, but now he knew that to be a lie, had seen the terrible proof of the lie and it unsettled him. For how was he to keep his faith and follow a man, protect a King who was nothing more than a spoiled brat and a liar?
So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that D'Artagnan failed to see the chair that came flying towards him, swung by a big drunk man. The side of the chair hit the him hard in the temple and he cried out as pain flashed through his head followed by a rush of darkness.
The sound of voices brought D'artagnan back to awareness, that and the touch of cool fingers brushing over his forehead, somewhat soothing the ache thrummed through his head. He thought about opening his eyes only it seemed like it would take too much effort.
"D'Artagnan?"
He knew that voice. Athos.
"Open your eyes for me, D'Artagnan," Athos ordered, although his tone was softer than usual.
Either way, D'Artagnan found himself obeying. He blinked hard then opened his eyes, wincing as the light in the room pierced his eyeballs and stabbed into his skull. He heard himself whimper even as he closed his eyes tight.
Aramis barked out an order. "Porthos, cover the window."
A moment later a gentle hand squeezed D'Artagnan's shoulder and Athos stated, "You can open your eyes now, the room is dark."
Hesitantly, D'Artagnan did as he was bid and it was better this time. He could still see, but the room was filled with soft gray shadows and he blinked to bring Athos' visage into focus. Carefully, D'Artagnan made an attempt to sit up only to fall back against the pillows when pain spiked through his head, making his stomach twist with nausea. He tried to swallow it down but lost the battle. In desperation he twisted to the side, and suddenly strong hands were there, lifting him and helping him to bend over the basin that was shoved beneath his chin.
Violently, D'Artagnan expelled the contents of his stomach until there was nothing but bile that made him gag. Gagging that made pain spike through his head like someone stabbing him with a knife. It was a wretched cycle he could not seem to control until Athos was suddenly behind him, arms wrapping around him, his voice in D'Artagnan's ear urging him to take shallow breaths.
Letting himself lean back into Athos, D'Artagnan felt the rhythm of the other man's breathing against his back and it helped him to follow the pattern of inhale and exhale until the gagging passed and the pain receded to something more manageable.
"Lay him back down," Aramis instructed, helping Athos to ease D'Artagnan back against the pillows. "Porthos, bring me some water."
D'Artagnan let them move around him, glad to be lying still again but wishing he could rid himself of the taste in his mouth. And as if he had willed it to be so, the rim of a goblet pressed against his lips. He clutched at the glass and took a sip before spitting it out in a clean basin he found beneath his chin. Then D'Artagnan allowed himself the luxury of a few swallows of cool bliss before relaxing back against the pillows once more.
The goblet and basin disappeared, then the bed dipped as someone sat down beside him.
"D'Artagnan, tell me what happened," Athos beseeched.
"I...I'm rather fuzzy on the details," D'Artagnan confessed, squinting a bit as he tried to focus on Athos' face.
With a shake of his head, Athos filled D'artagnan in on what had occurred. "I called out to you but you didn't hear me and I couldn't get to you in time before the drunk hit you with a chair. I thought he killed you." Athos sounded angry and resigned.
Aramis picked up the story. "Lucky for you and us, you have a hard head, D'Artagnan. But you were obviously not paying attention to your surroundings. Which is not a good thing when you're involved in a brawl."
"You know better," Athos chided. "What were you thinking?"
"One of the patrons was talking about King Louis," D'Artagnan replied, speaking softly so as not to aggravate the ache in his head. "About how kind he was and that he was a man of his word. I can't seem to forget what he did."
Athos laid a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "You will never forget, I'm afraid. But you must learn to accept that which will never change."
D'Artagnan knew that Athos spoke the truth, but that did not ease his distress any. "I wanted to become a Musketeer to protect and serve in the name of the King. To protect and serve the King. But he's not the man I thought he was."
"No one is perfect," Porthos interjected. "We can't hold the King to a standard we can not uphold ourselves."
"Wise words," Aramis said, sounding proud as he clapped Porthos on the arm.
Athos drew D'artagnan's attention once more. "King Louis is spoiled and moody. He will never understand the lives of the people he rules over, no matter that he insisted he wanted to be one of us. It was nothing more than a game to him, a game he could stop playing at any time. He is petulant, uncertain, and easily swayed by those who cater to his every whim and whimsy."
D'Artagnan started to nod, thought better of it, then said, "Like Rochefort?"
"Exactly," Athos confirmed. "But you have to put aside your disappointment, D'Artagnan. If you cannot accept King Louis' failings, then you will find it hard to do your duty to him. Regardless of his faults, Louis is our King and it is our duty to protect and defend him."
"Can you do that duty?" Aramis prompted, as he reached out and pressed gently against the bruising on D'Artagnan's temple.
Slapping the man's hand away with a wince, D'Artagnan studied each of his friends in turn as he considered the question. "I'm a musketeer," he said firmly and with pride. "I swore my fealty to the King and to my brothers and I will not break my vows. I'm sorry that I've been so naïve."
Porthos chuckled. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to believe in your King, D'Artagnan. There's nothing wrong with having faith, it's just not pleasant learning the truth."
"Consider the lesson learned," D'Artagnan replied ruefully, as he gingerly rubbed his aching head.
"Just be glad you have a hard head," Aramis countered, as he shooed the others away from the bed. "You need to rest because hard head or not, you do have a concussion so you'll be laid up for a few days."
D'Artagnan sighed. "Kick a man when he's down why don't you?" he groused, resisting the urge to pout. His head ached fiercely and he still felt sick and he knew he needed to rest, but at the same time he hated being stuck in bed. He would rest now, because he truly was tired, but the moment he woke up and the others were gone he would sneak out. That decided, D'Artagnan scrunched down into the blankets and closed his eyes.
He heard his friends moving about as they settled themselves to keep watch over him. D'Artagnan considered telling them they didn't have to stay, but speaking would take too much effort, and he realized he didn't mind having them there. He had lost faith in his King, but D'Artagnan knew he would never lose faith in his friends.
THE END