This story came about from a conversation last year about little girls and mittens and a few other random things. I think I said something then about writing a story with our multitude of child characters in it and I have wanted to write a backstory piece for Serge for some time. Since I have not had access to Season 3 yet, I'm almost in self-exile from the fandom as I don't want spoilers. I've missed playing here though.

Riversidewren has graciously loaned me her characters, Charlotte, Denise, Madeleine and Gabriel to play with. They can be found in "Silent Night" and "The Coming Storm" which you should read, if you have not, as both are brilliant. Since she isn't finished telling that tale, I borrowed them to play with while she keeps writing (hint, hint!). My characters, Juliette and her family come from "Lost" and "Thursday's Child" and Marcel can be found in "Rest in Peace". It's not necessary to have read them for this snippet to make sense as the focus of the story is Serge. Although you do need to know that Juliette's name for d'Artagnan is Louis. I have tried to fit in all timelines, but just squint if anything doesn't quite fit as this can stand alone.

Old Soldiers Never Die

"Old soldiers never die, they just fade away." General Douglas MacArthur

Marcel dropped his head against the horse's neck and took a deep breath. His skinny arms ached from all the effort required to groom a whole garrison full of horses over the past few days. The King's order for musketeers to be at his impromptu hunt had put all of them into a frenzy to meet the command and both Jacques and Marcel were exhausted. A muffled cough off to his right brought Marcel's head up and he began brushing frantically as though his life depended on it.

"Easy there! You'll rub a bald spot!"

Marcel looked around to see Jacques smiling at him. The older boy had taken to teasing him lately and he tentatively smiled back. It had taken months for him to find it within himself to trust the other boy, but it was slowly growing. After Porthos, who was the first person to see through his fear and doubt, Serge was the only other person in the garrison that he dared to really talk to. The man had a way of talking to him that made sense to him. He didn't talk in the adult way that Treville did that just confused him. The old man made him feel safe somehow. Like Porthos did, but it was different. Porthos seemed to know where his thoughts were and the big man had sat him down one night and talked about where he grew up in The Court. Marcel's eyes had grown rounder as the honourable musketeer told him he'd once been a pickpocket too. The idea that someone could crawl out of the gutter and rise above his place was unheard of where he came from. It had never occurred to him that he could be more than what he'd been born to. Of course, the idea that somebody could forgive him hadn't entered his thoughts either. At least not until Serge had sat with him and talked about the place in his chest that hurt when he'd done something wrong. He wished the nun had never told him about that place, because once he had a name for it, he couldn't ignore it. He still couldn't pronounce the name, but Serge and Porthos both insisted it mattered, so he paid attention.

Marcel would still tread carefully around both Athos and d'Artagnan whenever he saw them. He was not entirely sure that either man had really forgiven him for his part in hurting them both by accepting coin to deliver letters. He had no idea the pretty lady had such dark things in mind with those letters and his constant hunger overrode any misgivings he may have had. He hadn't meant to hurt either of them, but it didn't change facts that he had. He'd gone back to Serge more than once and the old man had patted his head, handed him an apple and told him it would all work out. He had no idea how Serge could be so sure about that when he was anything but certain. He still skirted around both men and tried his best to stay out of their way as much as possible.

Serge punched a fist into the huge ball of dough and grabbed at the far side to roll it towards him. His elbows protested the motion, but he ignored them. After all, most of his joints protested these days, but it didn't matter. He had a duty to perform whatever task was set before him and today his first task was preparing pastry for many pies. He smiled as he worked and thought of the young man who preferred rabbit pie over any other kind. The rabbit meat was bubbling away on the stovetop and the delicious aroma filled his kitchen. The herbs that he used enhanced the flavour and he thought of the woman in the marketplace who had supplied him with several unusual ones. She had been surprised that he had even asked, but been only too happy to find the necessary ingredients for him. Of course, it was Margaux who had given him the recipe after testing out several Gascon delicacies on d'Artagnan.

Serge found himself grinning as he thought about Margaux bringing her little chatterbox for supper that night. D'Artagnan had no idea what was being prepared in his honour. He had avoided telling anyone when his birthday was and they had missed the first one he'd spent in the garrison. Of course, the lad was in no mood to celebrate his first birthday without his father, but somehow Aramis had gotten the reason for his sour mood out of him. He'd dragged his friend off to a tavern to drown that day into oblivion, but not this time. This time around there would be no avoiding it as his friends gathered to honour him. If only the King hadn't thrown an impromptu hunt and taken all of them off elsewhere! Serge just hoped that the hunt would be successful and the men would return in time. He went back to dealing with his pastry as his mind wandered back to his days of riding alongside the King in his hunting pack. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The sound of baying dogs arose in his mind and he smiled to himself as he recalled the sounds and sights that were peculiar to a stag hunt. Of course he had ridden with the King's father and not the one that was currently off chasing something in the woods somewhere. Serge had heard the musketeers talk of the King's penchant for making them rustle up the game while he took the glory for the kill. It wasn't something they talked openly about as it could be considered treasonous to disparage the King, but he knew. He'd seen King Louis as a coddled boy who was handed things without ever once earning any of them. He'd been on the receiving end of a child's royal tantrum more than once. As a King's Musketeer, he had stood silently and accepted the rant while inwardly wanting to turn the brat over his knee. He figured it was a good thing he was too long in the tooth to be riding under Treville now as he didn't think he'd have the same patience anymore. Now there was a man who had the patience of a saint! Somehow the Captain managed to wrangle a disparate bunch of men into a formidable force. But it hadn't always been that way. That calm outward demeanor was hard-won as Treville had matured and learned to keep his temper in check.

Serge knew he'd seen something special in the new recruit right from the start. The day the young lad walked into the garrison and presented himself for musketeer training was a day he'd never forget. Somehow it had fallen to him to take the young man under his wing and tutor him in the finer points of swordplay. Serge felt a smile twitching at his lips as he recalled dumping the young man on his rear end more than once that day. Something of the relationship between Athos and d'Artagnan in the early days arose in his memory as he considered the man they now called Captain. Treville had argued and lost his temper and stormed out of the garrison more than once before he had finally managed to tame his temper and actually listen. Every time he heard Athos caution his protégé with the words about head over heart, Serge smiled. Athos didn't invent that one as many of them thought he did. Treville had taught it to him. But before that, a young musketeer had ground it into him as he drilled him on his swordplay.

Once the pies were done and decorated with offcuts of pastry, Serge set them aside to begin working on the next job. The few men who were still in the garrison would be expecting food once they finished in the practise yard and he set to preparing the noonday meal. The men appreciated his good cooking, but it hadn't always been that way. He'd found himself thrust into the role of cooking for the garrison and had resented it deeply at first. He wanted to be riding out on his horse as he had done before instead of dealing with burnt stew and sour apples.

Before.

Serge continued slicing warm baguettes and setting them to cool as he thought about how many things had changed in his time at the garrison. The once proud musketeer had found himself lowered to a woman's position without any time to stop and think about it. The skirmish that had almost cost him his life had cost him his pauldron. And his self respect. And the will to live.

Before.

Before a determined young man who had risen to the rank of Captain had dragged him back out of the mire of self-pity and put a wooden spoon in his hand. He stopped and stared at the sharp knife in his hand and for a moment he waved it in the air as he once would have wielded a sword. A smile turned to a short laugh as he considered his foolishness and he quickly went back to what he was doing. There were soldiers who needed to be fed. As Treville had finally pounded into his thick skull, he was still needed. Just in a different way.

It was only a short time later that Jacques burst into the kitchen with Marcel hot on his heels. He fully expected both boys to be seeking food and he was about to speak when he saw Jacques' face.

"What is it, lad?"

"There's a … a girl out there … and she's cryin' and says she wants Aramis and I …"

Serge barely bit back a comment as he figured it wasn't appropriate for the two boys in front of him. Instead he dropped the knife and wiped his hands across his breeches.

"Show me."

As he stepped out into the courtyard, he could see a small crowd had gathered around the bench. A girl's high-pitched voice could be heard over the men's shoulders and he could tell she was getting herself worked up. He edged his way through the group and was stunned to see a young woman, well more of a child really. She was gripping the edge of the table and her face was contorted in pain. It only took a moment for him to see past the ragged shawl wrapped around her as her body began to convulse again. It was clear that she was with child and it suddenly seemed very clear why she wanted Aramis. It wasn't the first time a pretty young thing had shown up and proclaimed the musketeer to be the father of their offspring, but it was the first time one of them had come before producing the so-called proof. Serge groaned as he looked at the faces around him. Not one of them knew a thing about birthing a baby. He turned to the nearest and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Take her into the infirmary. And you," he pointed at another chest, "fetch Charlotte."

The first man hesitated to touch the girl, but Serge glared at him.

"I don't know that Aramis is going to be too happy about this, you know?"

The girl chose that moment to kick out and her booted foot connected with the man's shin.

"Aramis told me to come here when it was my time!" Her words were breathy and her face was flushed with pain as she spoke. "He told me he'd help me!"

The desperation rang through even as she gritted her teeth for another contraction. The hapless man nearest her reached out his hands and gently scooped her into his arms. She was lighter than he expected and he smiled tentatively at her as he carried her across the practise yard towards the infirmary.

Marcel found himself clinging to Jacques' arm and looked embarrassed as he realised what he was doing. The older boy looked down at him and thumbed towards the stables.

"Let's keep workin' on them horses. Don't expect there's gonna be much food comin' for a bit."

Charlotte gathered up her apothecary bag and quickly inspected the contents. The various packets of herbs inside would possibly be needed and she reached towards the shelf for several others. It was always better to be prepared than not and even though she knew the infirmary was well-stocked, it was not equipped for a woman in labour. She quickly scribbled a note explaining where she had gone and asking her cousin to come to the garrison as soon as she returned from the marketplace. Another pair of hands with at least some experience in birthing would be very welcome.

As she hurried down the cobblestone streets towards the garrison, she could not help but smile. She and Athos had talked of children and she could not wait until the day she could present her husband with a child of his own. A child that would be the most loved child in the entire world. She quickly reigned in her thoughts as she followed the musketeer into the garrison and hurried towards the infirmary. She didn't need to be told where to go as the sound of screams carried clearly over the unusually silent practise yard. Men seemed highly absorbed in polishing weapons or sharpening blades, but she rushed past them all, ignoring the furtive glances that came her way.

As she pushed open the door, she saw Serge wiping a cooling cloth across a young girl's face as she groaned in pain while the last of the contraction faded. The old man's gentle hand was wrapped around the girl's arm and he looked up as Charlotte hurried in. Relief was obvious as he saw her coming to the rescue and he almost stood up to leave.

"No! Please stay. I will need your help."

Serge looked across at the woman who had somehow brought Athos back to life and he smiled at the forceful yet calm request. She was a petite thing, but there was a strength in her that her size belied. The fire in her hair matched the fire in her spirit. Of course, she needed that to go toe-to-toe with her husband.

"Not sure that I'm much use to you."

Charlotte patted his shoulder as she settled down on a stool beside the bed. "You are doing just fine." She reached for the young girl's hand and smiled calmly, trying desperately to cover the fear churning inside her. She had never done this before and only knew what she knew from talking to her cousin.

"Now, I'm Charlotte. What's your name?"

Serge listened as Georgitte spoke quietly in between the tears that rolled down her cheeks. His mind wandered as he recalled the last time he had done this very thing. He prayed it would not end the same way.

Denise pushed the door open and called out a greeting to her cousin as she did so. The quietness surprised her as she had left Charlotte in the kitchen only an hour earlier. Madeleine stood just behind her with her arms full of fresh rhubarb for the apple and rhubarb pies they were making for the evening's festivities.

"Charlotte?" As Denise crossed to the bench and put down the things she was carrying, she spotted the piece of notepaper wedged under a pottery urn. As she picked it up and scanned the few lines, she turned towards her daughter. She debated leaving Madeleine where she was as the garrison was no place for a young girl on her own, but then she had no idea how long she would be gone. Before she could begin to remove her shawl, Denise pointed towards the door.

"Leave that on. We must go and see what Charlotte is doing first."

Madeleine looked up at her mother with a slight frown. She knew they had a lot to do as her mother had warned her against dawdling on the way back from market. She placed her basket on the table and hurried back to where her mother held the door open. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what. By the time they reached the garrison, she was none the wiser until she heard a shrill scream split the air. She shrunk back against her mother's leg and Denise wrapped a calming hand around her shoulder. Denise looked around for the only musketeers she knew and was dismayed to see that none of them were there. The smell of food wafted across towards them and she made a quick decision. The kitchen was the best place she could deposit her daughter before going to help Charlotte. As she entered the room, she was surprised to see two boys rummaging through a storage bag. They both looked up at her entrance and looked extremely guilty. The older of the two grabbed the younger one by the shoulders.

"Um, we was just lookin' for somethin' to eat. Serge has been busy and he ain't had time to feed us yet." The look was defiant as if daring her to object and Denise found herself trying not to smile.

"I'm not concerned about that. This is my daughter, Madeleine. I need to leave her here while I go and help Charlotte with … um … with …." Before she could continue they all heard another scream and Jacques nodded his head furiously.

"You'd better go …. before she dies!"

Denise felt Madeleine grip her hand tighter and she smiled brightly. "Nobody is going to die. But I do need to go and help." She leaned down to brush a kiss on her daughter's cheek and pointed towards the two boys. "Perhaps they can also find you something to eat as I know you will be hungry."

Marcel stared at the girl who gazed back at them. She was a little shorter than him and he slowly held out the apple he'd had hidden behind his back. It only had one small bite out of one side and she wasn't so big. He figured it should be enough to feed her.

By the time Serge made it back to the safety of his kitchen, his mind was a thousand leagues away. The girl who had gripped so tightly at his hand reminded him of another who had gripped his hand and held on just as tightly. She had begged him to make it all stop and he had muttered useless words that did nothing. Nobody had come that day and told him what to do. Nobody had been there as his wife and unborn child died in his arms.

It would be many years later that he would finally share that story with a bereft captain who had lost twenty men under his command. As the man's shoulders had bent and almost buckled under the load, he had shared the grief and told him how to go on and keep living. It was so many years back, but he could still see the blue of her eyes and the tiny curls that gathered at the nape of her neck. He had no idea if he had fathered a boy or a girl, but it was so long past that it no longer mattered. He simply held tight to the belief he would one day see them both again.

As he walked into the room, he noted somebody had been through and taken the baguettes he had left laid out. A smile quirked at his lip as he knew who that would have been. As he set to work catching up on his baking, he prayed quietly that today would be a double celebration and not a day of mourning.

Juliette had not stopped talking to Marie all the way from her bedroom to the kitchen and Odette smiled at the child before her. The doll she was chatting to had a new ribbon in her hair and Odette knew that Margaux had put it there only that morning. Juliette wore a matching ribbon in her own hair and she happily twirled to show them both off.

"Ready?"

Juliette nodded eagerly. "As soon as Papa gets home."

The wait for her father to arrive seemed interminable and Juliette sat on the step outside the front door. She ran her fingers over Marie's blue dress and smiled as she remembered the day Louis had given it to her. The one Marie had before that was torn and splattered with mud. The new one was blue and she knew that made it official that Marie was a musketeer.

"Papa!" Juliette squealed as she saw her father striding towards her and she clambered up to open the front door and alert her mother.

"I heard you!" Margaux called down the stairs before Juliette could call out again.

The baker quickly dropped his wrapped parcel onto the step as he knew it was about to be crushed. As Albert swung his daughter up into his arms, he felt her arms around his neck as kisses rained down on his cheek. He grinned at her as his wife came out the door, followed by Odette. The two baskets they carried smelled delicious and he quickly retrieved the warm bread loaves from the step before heading off towards the garrison.

Constance knew she was later than she would have liked to be, but one did not tell the Queen they were leaving without her permission to leave. Anne had hugged her and whispered in her ear as she had left the upstairs chamber and made her way towards the garrison. It was getting on dark and the riders had not yet returned from the hunt. There was no telling how long they would be and nobody could hurry the King along even if he chose to stay out all night. She hoped that would not be the case.

As she arrived at the garrison, it had a strange feel to it. The planned festivities seemed to have been shelved and she frowned at the quiet courtyard. A few men stood around the lit braziers as the darkness closed in and she made her way across to the kitchen without speaking to any of them. Before she got there, Serge came out to fill a pot from the pump and he spotted her.

"I was wondering when you might get here."

He sounded tired and Constance rushed to grab the pot of water from his grasp.

"I'm sorry, I thought I would get away sooner, but …"

"But palace life runs on its own clock."

"Yes, I suppose it does."

"Much like babies do."

Constance laughed at the comment. She had spent enough time with the Dauphin to agree with that. He did not seem to think nighttime was the time to sleep yet.

"Yes, much like babies."

As she followed Serge back into the kitchen, she was surprised to see how much work was still to be done for supper. He had been eager to plan a surprise for d'Artagnan and it was not like him to not keep order in his own kitchen.

He noted her frown before she could cover it over and he waved a hand around the room. "Babies mess up the best of plans."

By this time, Constance had no idea what he was referring to. "Babies?"

"Well, hopefully just one baby. There's one planning on being born in the infirmary. Been kind of busy with that one today."

Before either of them could speak, a scream carried across from the infirmary. As the night air closed in, it seemed to echo across the open yard.

"Who?" Constance had no idea why a woman would be in the musketeer garrison, apparently ready to birth a child. Before Serge could answer, she was rushing for the door. "She needs help by the sound of it."

"Charlotte and Denise are both over there. But maybe it's best if you go and see if they need anything."

As Constance ran from the room, Serge pulled out a stool and sat down heavily. It had been hours and all he kept hearing was that young child over there getting weaker. Her screams of pain were growing softer and he didn't think that was a good thing. It was a few minutes later that he pulled himself upright and shoved the stool back in place.

"Ain't nothin' I can do over there. But I can get this supper on the table."

As if on cue, Marcel appeared in the doorway with Madeleine in tow. He sniffed the air and Serge couldn't contain a laugh as he watched the boy. He'd grown a good half foot since coming to the garrison and the gaunt look of his face had filled out a little. He still stole apples from the barrel and Serge knew when to leave fresh-baked muffins airing on the window ledge, expecting several to disappear while his back was turned. It was a hard thing to convince the lad that food was not going to run out on him.

It would be hours later before a tired group of riders rode into the garrison. Nobody thought twice as a young boy swung down from behind Aramis as Gabriel had been to the garrison on many occasions. The fact Aramis had been appointed the boy's mentor by the King himself had raised a few eyebrows at the time, but by the time d'Artagnan's surprise celebration came around, nobody thought twice about Aramis and his shadow. The young page boy was ecstatic at being invited to join the garrison of men he held on a pedestal.

The King had finally tired of his hunt after he had bagged two stags and several pheasants. Nobody mentioned the fact he had almost killed one of his servants with a mis-timed shot as the man was flushing pheasants from the undergrowth. One of Treville's men was sporting a large gash after being thrown from his horse when one of the King's guests chose to fire off a musket at a squirrel without regard for who was nearby. As he made his way to the infirmary with Aramis beside him, another musketeer blocked the door. Sounds wafted through from behind him and he was trying to hold a stoic face, but only just succeeding. Seconds later the sound of a newborn wail carried through the air and a wild cheer erupted from behind them. Aramis swung around to see a small group of men slapping each other on the back as if they had all just become fathers and he grinned at them.

"Georgitte is in there?" He pointed to the infirmary and the guard nodded in agreement.

"Been here most of the day. With Charlotte and her cousin. Sounds like it's finally over."

Aramis patted the man on the arm and edged around him. "No, it's just beginning."

Serge looked around the gathering and could not find the face he was looking for. D'Artagnan sat on a bench with Juliette curled up against his shoulder. She was sound asleep after insisting that she was not the least bit tired. Across from them, Madeleine was wrapped up in Porthos' cloak and just as soundly asleep on the bench. The remains of the meal lay strewn across several tables and men passed bottles of wine around, refilling goblets that needed topping up. Constance leaned up against d'Artagnan's shoulder and smiled at the various couples who were dancing to a lively combination of a fiddle and a flute that somebody had brought in from a local tavern. As always, Aramis was in the thick of things teaching Gabriel how to dance as he considered it a necessary skill for one in the service of the King. The boy was doing his best to follow the instructions, but it was clear he was tiring and would soon drop.

As Serge continued his search, he finally found the one he was seeking out. He stood outside the stable doors and listened as two boys talked of the day's dramatic events.

"I wonder what that baby looks like?"

"I heard it was all scrunched up and had a red face."

"Sounds like an ugly baby."

"I dunno. Aramis came out and said he was beautiful."

"You think he's the baby's papa?" Marcel's voice was barely a squeak as he gave voice to his thoughts.

"Where'd you hear that?"

Serge almost gave himself away as it had been the talk of the garrison all afternoon and it would have been impossible for Marcel not to have heard it. He smothered a cough as he waited to hear what the boy would say.

"Someone said so. Said Aramis' chickens had come home to roost, but I didn't see no chickens."

"I don't know about chickens, but Aramis said she was a girl from the tavern and he promised to help her when it was … well … when she needed him to."

"But he wasn't even here all day! He only got here at the end of everything."

"Sometimes that's how it goes. The person you need isn't there all the time, but they get there when you need them."

Serge leaned against the doorframe and smiled. Since when were stable boys philosophers?

"You mean like Serge and Porthos?"

His ears pricked up at that and he thought he may have given himself away after all.

"Huh?"

Marcel's voice dropped a notch and Serge had to lean in to hear. "I don't know who my papa is … and my mama said she didn't know neither. After all that other stuff that happened … you know …" Serge could envisage the boy's face scrunched up as he tried to talk. "I figured they'd make me leave. They were really angry. But then Serge told me that I could make this stop hurting inside me and try to fix it. I didn't know I could, but he told me how. How do ya think he knew that?"

Serge felt his own chest constrict as he remembered talking to the lad about his conscience and how to try to make things better.

"He knows lotsa things like that." There was a lull in the conversation and Serge tried to decide whether to leave or make his presence known. "Captain Treville told me once to always listen to Serge, 'cause he knows lots of stuff worth knowin'."

The old soldier felt tears pricking at his eyes as he considered Jacques' words. The things he had known like how to swing a sword or how to reload a musket quick enough to give Aramis a run for his money were useless things. Ever since he'd nearly died on that damned battlefield, the things he knew were of no value. His body betrayed him and his soldiering days were well behind him. He'd wished and prayed many nights that he could have died that day and been spared the humiliation of being put out to pasture like an old horse. He took a step back and leaned against the side of the stable.

"He's right."

The voice carried out of the darkness before a shadow resolved itself into the Captain. Treville raised a goblet of wine towards him in a kind of toast and took a swallow of his wine.

"There are many things that you know that we have all benefited from. Especially me, old man."

The two men regarded each other for a moment before Serge ducked his head.

"I'm just an old soldier who learned how to cook."

"You are so much more than that." Treville waved a hand around to encompass the whole garrison. "You are the heart and soul of this old place and every new recruit who has walked through that gate has you to thank for something. Now, I think you need a taste of this fine wine that Athos has supplied for us to enjoy."

He wrapped a hand across Serge's shoulder and began to steer him towards the table where several bottles still sat, unopened.

"Besides, we are yet to raise a toast to young Charles."

Serge grinned at the Captain. "He don't take to bein' called that, you know."

"Who says I'm talking about our birthday boy? We have a fine young lad sleeping soundly in the infirmary who is named for the woman who delivered him. Charles Serge Dubois."

"What?"

The old man pulled up short as he assumed Treville was making a joke at his expense.

"I am assured there is a young lady in the infirmary who was most adamant about the name. She said you were the rock she held onto when she was terrified and there is nobody else she would rather name the child after. A man could be proud to bear such a name."

As Treville poured a goblet of wine and handed it to his old friend, he smiled. "To those who step up when they are called upon and can always be relied upon when needed." He clapped a firm hand on his mentor's shoulder. "To friends and family!"

Serge could barely raise the glass to his lips and felt his hand shaking. To him, they were one and the same. As he glanced around and listened to the laughter that wafted his way, he thanked God that he had not taken him up on his demand all those years ago. After all, he had a namesake who would need someone to keep an eye on him.