One: Restless (in which there is a surprising amount of d'Artagnan)

"Aramis, leave off with that and come eat," commanded Athos.

Balancing on one of two thin trees that had been cut and stretched across the deepest section of the river as a weak bridge, Aramis was working his sword. Guiding his feet back and forth precariously as he practiced for balance.

"Not hungry," he said, turning and swinging his sword down with a swish. "Besides, one of us needs to keep an eye on the road and the view is lovely from here."

"We've been keeping an eye on the road for three days," grumbled Porthos. "If they were smuggling the black powder through this passage, we would have seen them by now."

Aramis grunted and kept moving.

Watching him, Athos sighed wearily. For all that he could show an uncanny and elongated patience in the oddest of circumstances, give Aramis a task on a lookout mission and he over-focused. Leave him camped on the edge of a river away from input and distraction for three days and he became over-focused, restless, and bored.

"Aramis, come eat," he repeated, putting a touch more force behind it. "You've been at the sword work too long, haven't eaten all day, and well besides, you're setting a bad example for the boy."

D'Artagnan lifted his chin at that, halting with his spoonful of stew only an inch above the bowl. "When is it, exactly, that people will stop calling me that?" he asked. "General estimation perhaps? I'd like to plan ahead."

Porthos chuckled, reaching over to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair as Aramis conceded to orders and returned to solid ground. He slid his sword back where it belonged and then hunkered with his spine to a tree as he picked up his pistol.

"Didn't you clean that this morning?" asked Porthos.

Ignoring him, Aramis turned to Athos. "Perhaps I should scout north to see if there's a cross-path. Or south across the shallow part of the river?"

"No," said Athos steadily. "You spent last night up a tree on watch and neglected to wake Porthos for his. Even if I felt we needed a scout, which I don't, I'd send him or go myself."

D'Artagnan put his bowl down. "I could do it."

Gracing Aramis with a withering look, Athos shook his head. "No."

Smiling into Athos's chagrin, Aramis returned to cleaning his pistol.

"Why not?" pressed d'Artagnan, disregarding their skeptical expressions. "I'm faster on a horse than Porthos. I could go and be back before it's even dark."

"Perhaps when the uniform is a touch less shiny," said Athos, more wry than cruel.

"Perhaps after you've actually been able to land a hit facing more than one opponent," joined Porthos. "Or at the very least, let us work on your brawling skills."

"Come on," d'Artagnan persisted. "You know I can do it. You've seen me. Besides, I've been in much more dangerous situations than a scout down the river." He paused for breath, glancing between them in the silence. "Aramis, tell them."

"You're always doing that," Porthos interjected suddenly. "Have you noticed? 'Aramis, what do you think?'" he mimicked. "'Aramis, tell them to leave me alone. Aramis this, Aramis that.' When did you start believing Aramis was your bloody avenger?"

Pausing in his weapons work, Aramis tipped his head to the side quizzically while d'Artagnan scowled.

"I don't think he's my avenger," he insisted, coiled with all the indignation of youth. "I just think he knows what it's like to have you two on his back all the time about stuff like this."

Athos blinked. "Aramis was in the regiment before either of us," he reminded. "And was a soldier long before that. Trust me, when I met Aramis there was no need to teach him anything."

"Mighta needed to get a bit better at hand-to-hand," mumbled Porthos.

"No more than your shooting and sword work," returned Aramis.

D'Artagnan shook his head very slightly. "But you fuss at him," he insisted. "Both of you. I've seen it."

Aramis laughed. "Only in certain circumstances."

"Only when his sense of self-preservation flies out the window," growled Porthos.

Athos nodded. "Which is, come to think, more often than we'd like."

"Besides." Porthos set his own bowl aside and rolled another stick towards the fire. "Aramis can fuss back plenty when he sets his mind to it. Wait until you get your first set of stitches from him."

"Come on, now," Aramis cut in with a smile. "You were talking about young d'Artagnan's brawling skills. Let's go back to that."

D'Artagnan scowled. "Traitor."

"Ah youth." Aramis winked.

Sniffing, d'Artagnan turned once more to Athos. "All right then, you don't fuss at him. So tell me, if he weren't tired—"

"I'm not tired. I'm bored."

"—even if you felt the scout was unnecessary, would you let him go?"

"D'Artagnan, it's not a slight against you. We've seen your skill. Aramis is simply more experienced. And in general is able to concede upon recognizing that I'm right." He graced Aramis with a twitch of his lips and a lifted eyebrow. Aramis smiled back. "Besides, this isn't a job that can be forced to its conclusion. A scout would do nothing but isolate one of us and leave the rest of us one fighter down. Even if the smugglers circumvent the road, if they're going through this way, we'll see them from here."

D'Artagnan sighed.

Setting his pistol and rag aside, Aramis stood. "Come on, then. Athos has decreed there shall be no scouting, and we, ever the good soldiers, shall obey. There is, however, no reason we can't work on your neglected brawling skills in the meantime. We shall both stay occupied and therefore give them no reason to fuss at either one of us." But upon standing, he paled slightly, the frenetic edge of his restlessness catching up to him.

"Aramis, sit down," Athos repeated strongly, moving to enforce the order with a grip to his shoulder. Aramis folded, and Athos shoved a bowl into his hands. "Eat, then to bed with you."

"You were saying?" asked d'Artagnan, lifting an eyebrow and smiling smugly.

"Fine, I'll sit, I'll eat. But you two—leave the boy alone. He's had enough fussing for one day."

Cheekily, d'Artagnan grinned.

Next up: Caged