Much gratitude goes out to AZGirl for her wonderful beta skills. Her talent has made this a much smoother read and all remaining mistakes are mine.
This story takes place between seasons 1 and 2. If you choose to read, I hope you'll leave a review and share your thoughts with me. Enjoy!
He found himself unaccountably nervous as he stood next to his horse, one of seven men who would be accompanying Treville to his meeting with the Ambassador. Moving the reins he held from his right hand to his left, he rubbed the former hand ineffectually along his breeches in an effort to wipe away the sweat that pooled there. It was not like he was a recruit anymore and he'd been tested time and again, successfully having proven both his skill and his worth to the regiment. Surely he would not have won his commission if that wasn't the case.
Beside him, his horse nickered softly, sensing its owner's unrest, and d'Artagnan moved his still clammy hand to the animal's neck, stroking it absently as he murmured a few words to soothe it. In response, the horse turned its head, seeking one of the treats that the Gascon often carried, but he gently pushed the inquisitive nose away and the animal whinnied quietly in protest. He allowed his hand to drop and switched the reins over again, his eyes darting up to the balcony where the Captain's office was located. Their commanding officer was just leaving final instructions with Vieux who would be stepping in to lead the regiment during Treville's absence.
As he heard the door above open, followed immediately by the hollow echo of the Captain's boots on the wooden planks, d'Artagnan's heart sped up and he grimaced inwardly at his body's foolish reaction. He reminded himself again that he was no longer a raw recruit and, compared to the many of the other men, he could almost be viewed as a seasoned soldier, having proven himself multiple times in the months since he'd gained his pauldron. As if sensing his anxiety, Treville paused two steps from the bottom, casting an appraising eye over the Gascon and d'Artagnan held his breath, wondering what the older man saw when he looked at him.
Whatever Treville had been looking for, he seemed to find it as he gave the younger man a small nod which d'Artagnan returned, watching as the Captain took a final look over the assembled men. With a low murmur of thanks to the stable boy, he gathered his reins and pulled himself into the saddle, the Musketeers surrounding him doing the same. With another nod of his head, Treville indicated his readiness to move out and two men took the lead while Treville and d'Artagnan fell in behind, the remaining men closing ranks to both surround and follow them. A small thrill of pride replaced his earlier anxiety and d'Artagnan couldn't help but sit up a little straighter at the knowledge that he'd been entrusted to stay close to the Captain, thus giving him an important role in protecting the man if they encountered any trouble.
The thought was followed by a wince, this one flashing momentarily across his face and he prayed that Treville hadn't noticed. A quick glance in the Captain's direction revealed eyes that faced forward and the Gascon let out a soft sigh of relief that he hadn't been found out. Part of the reason that he now accompanied Treville was that he'd still been recovering from an injury when his three friends were dispatched the week prior to complete another mission. Aramis had been adamant that the Gascon not hinder his recovery by riding too soon and, unfortunately for d'Artagnan, the Captain had agreed. It wasn't the first time they'd been apart, but it was such an infrequent occurrence now that the young man had almost been ready to protest being left behind, until a look from Athos had made the argument die on his lips.
As a result, he found himself surrounded by six of his brothers-in-arms who he knew more in passing than through any real experience working with them. Doubt rose again as he wondered if his spot at the Captain's side was really due to the man's faith in his abilities or because he worried over d'Artagnan's healing injury. Another quick look at the man riding beside him revealed no more information than the last time he'd checked, and the Gascon resolved himself to the fact that he would not have an answer, doing his best to convince himself instead that the tender spot at his right hip didn't twinge with each movement of the horse beneath him.
Treville caught the surreptitious glances cast in his direction but chose not to acknowledge them, having already reached a conclusion earlier when he'd stepped into the courtyard and taken in d'Artagnan's appearance. There was no doubt that the young man looked far better than he had almost three weeks prior when he'd ridden in, encircled by Porthos' arms, barely conscious from blood loss and pain. The inseparables had encountered some difficulties during their mission, a fact that the Captain should have anticipated given the four's penchant for trouble. He'd shared a look with Athos that communicated so much – their mission had been a success, no one else was seriously hurt, and the man was greatly concerned over the Gascon's injury.
It was enough information that Treville gave a short nod of dismissal, allowing his lieutenant to follow in his friends' wake since Aramis and Porthos had already dismounted and bustled the half-aware man to his quarters. Athos slid stiffly from his horse and the Captain's eyes momentarily narrowed as he noted the hunched shoulders and slight limp that spoke of fatigue and some minor injury; hopefully minor, Treville corrected himself, far too familiar with the men's tendencies to downplay their wounds. He'd given them some time to sort themselves out, taking care of d'Artagnan's injury and eating and washing away the worst of the dirt and blood from their journey. Treville was unsurprised when Athos presented himself a couple hours later to provide a more detailed report, looking only marginally better than he had when they'd first arrived.
The Captain had watched his lieutenant carefully, noting the slight hitch in the man's step that not even willpower could erase, and he decided not to wait for Athos to try and deceive him, speaking before the other man could. "You've hurt your leg." Athos wore a mild look of annoyance but didn't dispute his commanding officer's words, a slight dip of his chin the only acknowledgement Treville received. "Any other injuries of which I should be aware?" the Captain asked, counting on Athos' sense of duty to encourage him to be truthful.
Athos stood silently for several seconds, debating about how to answer and Treville could see the moment when his lieutenant conceded that honesty was the best recourse, taking a deep breath before responding, "Nothing worse than the usual assortment of bruises and scrapes." At the Captain's raised eyebrow, Athos added, "I was thrown from my horse and landed badly. Aramis has wrapped my ankle and suggests light duties for a few days."
Satisfied, Treville gave a short nod, "d'Artagnan?"
A slow, deep breath preceded Athos' words and the Captain waited patiently for the man to reply. "He took a ball to the hip. Aramis has removed it and tended the wound." The former Comte fell silent momentarily and Treville knew the man had more to say. "Based on his level of pain, Aramis believes the bone may have been injured."
Treville had slowly released the breath he'd been holding, recognizing the seriousness of the injury but grateful that it was unlikely to be life threatening. "Aramis expects him to recover?" he confirmed. Athos nodded tiredly even though they both knew that infection was still a very real concern. "I'll keep you off duty for the next three days. Keep me informed and let me know if you need more time." The offer was a generous one and Athos gave a lowly-murmured word of thanks before launching into a more detailed description of the events that had led up to their ambush. By the end of their conversation, Treville had determined that the attackers – the few who had managed to get away after his Musketeers had dispatched the others – would be difficult to find, and no follow-up mission would be launched at this time.
As the day had worn on, d'Artagnan had in fact taken a fever and it would be four days before the young man's skin stopped burning. He laid drenched in sweat, unaware of his surroundings, despite being in the company of one of more of his brothers the entire time. When the infection was finally stopped in its tracks, Treville was left with four exhausted Musketeers who needed time to recover, and he kept the three relatively healthy men off rotation for the remainder of the week, until they were satisfied that the Gascon would be alright. Once the young man had begun to eat and drink, he began to regain his strength and it became apparent that, although his injury had been incredibly painful, the bone had thankfully not actually broken. Aramis, however, made the Gascon take things slow since d'Artagnan was still incredibly sore and his level of discomfort only intensified the longer he was on his feet.
By the end of the second week, the others had returned to active duty, although Treville had managed to keep them in Paris, allowing them to check on their healing friend each morning and night. But then they were needed on a mission and d'Artagnan had sadly watched as they'd ridden away, Aramis stating in no uncertain terms that the young man would need another week of light duties before he'd be able to manage the jostling associated with riding a horse. The Captain had watched the Gascon clench his fists at his sides at the frustration he'd felt at being left behind but, more importantly, he saw the underlying fear in d'Artagnan's face – fear that something would happen to his friends while they were apart and he was unable to protect them. It was a far from uncommon reaction in brothers-in-arms although Treville would readily admit that this bond was stronger than most and, for a moment, he almost felt guilty about separating the four.
He'd kept the young man busy with duties around the garrison, ensuring that the tasks selected would give the boy plenty of time off his feet in order to avoid aggravating his still-healing wound. As the Gascon's health improved, his mood diminished and Treville knew that the young man would not allow himself to be coddled much longer. Then the request had come from the King; Treville was needed for a meeting with the Dutch Ambassador who was travelling through northern France. The King had accepted the fact that the politician was an important enough individual to accede to a meeting, but not important enough for his own time to be wasted. Recognizing that the Ambassador would not settle for just anyone, he'd delegated the meeting to Treville, the Captain having played this role in the past with other lower-level dignitaries.
The trip necessitated an escort large enough to both ensure Treville's safety as well as reflecting the level of his importance at his upcoming meeting, the Captain being savvy enough to recognize that the size of a man's entourage often spoke volumes. Despite the fact that he abhorred such political behaviour, he resigned himself to the trip and turned his focus to planning the upcoming journey, belatedly realizing that he felt somewhat responsible for the Gascon in the inseparables' absence. A look in the young man's direction showed d'Artagnan's still-declining mood and he sighed inwardly as he made the decision to bring the boy along as part of his escort. It took two days to complete their preparations before Treville and the others had departed, leaving Vieux behind to run the garrison in his absence.
Their destination would take over a week to reach and the Captain, unbeknownst to d'Artagnan, had already sent word ahead to the inseparables to meet up with them once they'd finished their own mission in Reims. For some unfathomable reason, Treville always felt better when the four of them were at his side, hence his decision to have the others join them instead of returning to Paris. Glancing surreptitiously to his right, he found comfort in his choice, knowing that the young man would only be fully recovered once he was reunited with his brothers. The thought brought a ghost of a smile to his face and he applauded his ability to still anticipate and provide for his men's needs.
"Yuck," Aramis slapped his hat against his breeches, vainly trying to remove some of the mud that was caked onto the brim after it fell off his head to land in a rather shallow puddle. Porthos grinned as he watched his friend's antics, knowing how attached the marksman was to his headwear and how he hated to present himself in anything less than his finest. A few feet away, Athos' eyes shone with mirth at the sight of Aramis' disgust, understanding just as well as Porthos how put out the marksman would be over this minor mishap. The man didn't even have anyone to blame, a strong gust of wind having suddenly appeared and removing everyone's hats from their heads, but it was only Aramis' that had landed poorly in the sole patch of damp ground surrounding them.
"It'll never be the same," the marksman bemoaned the layer of filth on his beautiful hat, the adorning feather drooping under a slick coating of the thick muck that refused to be dislodged. His comment only made Porthos' grin widen and even Athos had to momentarily look away to hide the smile that sprang to his lips.
"Come on then," Porthos urged, clapping his friend soundly on the back, forcing Aramis to take a quick step forward to regain his balance. With a last, sad look at his dirty hat, Aramis sighed and followed his friends into the tavern where they'd secured rooms for the night. The evening fire had already been stoked and the warmth was a welcome change from the evening chill outside. Although it was spring, the nights were still cool and patches of snow could be found lingering in any spots protected from the sun.
Porthos moved directly to a table near the glowing hearth in deference to Aramis' desire for warmth at this time of year. It had been years since Savoy but the memories still haunted the marksman, becoming somewhat more tangible at this time of year and causing the man to feel constantly chilled. Athos raised a hand as he sat, the barmaid catching his eye and nodding before collecting a bottle of wine and three cups. As she set the items down, Porthos ordered their meal while Aramis continued to look at his hat despondently. Catching the expression on his friend's face once the barmaid had left, the large man nudged Aramis' shoulder with his own as he said, "It's just a hat."
Aramis looked up at the man with a mock look of horror on his face as he countered, "It is not just a hat. This is a fine chapeau and an integral part of my uniform. As a King's Musketeer, I can't be seen wearing just any old thing."
"To think nothing of the ladies' reactions to see our Aramis in anything less than his best," Athos added, straight-faced, causing Porthos to snort in amusement.
Aramis let out an aggrieved sigh and put his hat aside, recognizing that the two men would continue to tease him for as long as he focused on it. Moments later the barmaid returned, bearing bowls of stew and a plate of bread and cheese, which she deftly deposited on the table before retreating. They'd only managed a few bites before a newcomer entered, scanning the large room and clearly looking for someone. Athos lifted his eyes immediately and watched as the man's gaze landed on their table and he began to move toward them. Quietly the older man murmured, "We have company."
The warning was unnecessary as his two companions had already noticed the approaching man and both kept an eye on him as they pretended to continue eating. When he arrived at their table, the man removed his hat and met Athos' hard gaze as he announced, "I carry a message for the Musketeer Athos."
"I'm Athos," he replied, waiting for the man to continue. The messenger reached into his doublet while Porthos' hand unobtrusively moved to rest on his pistol. When the man's hand withdrew, he held a roll of parchment, which he held out for Athos to take.
The Musketeer took and unrolled it, revealing Treville's neat script. With a small tilt of Athos' head, Porthos' hand moved away from his weapon and Aramis dipped into his purse, offering the messenger several coins for his service. With a nod of thanks, the man retreated and the two friends waited for Athos to speak. "We are to rendezvous with the Captain in Calais where he has a meeting planned in one week's time." He raised his eyes to look at Aramis as he said, "d'Artagnan will be with him."
The reaction was milder than he'd anticipated, with the medic wincing slightly but offering no words of protest against the Gascon's actions. Athos was heartened by the response which told him that, although Aramis wasn't happy that d'Artagnan had been returned to active duty, he also wasn't overly worried by the fact. "Who's he meetin' with?" Porthos asked before popping a bite of cheese into his mouth.
"He doesn't say," Athos replied thoughtfully, all of them recognizing that Treville would only be deployed on a mission of some import, his duties typically keeping him close to Paris. None of them commented on the oddity of the situation though and Aramis smiled as he briefly clasped Athos' shoulder, "At least you'll get to see that d'Artagnan's alright." Athos offered a glare in return but it contained no heat, all three of them looking forward to seeing their fourth and confirming with their own eyes that the young man was well. Despite that, Athos couldn't help feeling uneasy about the cryptic nature of their orders as he took a drink of his wine.
Their days were long and boring, and d'Artagnan had to work hard at not succumbing to the monotony that often characterized lengthier journeys. Normally he wouldn't mind so much, having his friends and their stories to entertain him, but with the Captain at his side, things were different. It wasn't that he didn't get along with the others in the regiment but he lacked the same comfortable camaraderie that he had with the others. Additionally, Treville seemed determined to keep him close while they travelled, thus limiting his opportunities to interact with the other men and curbing the Gascon's normal exuberance.
The Captain recognized that the young man beside him was chafing at the perceived limits being placed on him, but he was not yet willing to allow the boy a turn on the front or rear guard, trying to limit his vulnerability in case of attack. Although nothing had been said, Treville had noticed the occasional winces when they increased their speed, and the way in which d'Artagnan stiffly dismounted and shuffled around camp at the end of each day. He was confident that there was no new damage to be concerned with, but the residual soreness of his injury would be tiring regardless of the Gascon's stubborn and stoic nature.
As a result, d'Artagnan was feeling somewhat sorry for himself. He didn't mean to feel ungrateful for the Captain's consideration of his healing wound, but he couldn't help the frustration that welled each time the others were rotated through the various positions, while he was left continuously riding next to his commanding officer. Scrubbing a hand across his face and then through his lank hair, he suppressed the sigh that threatened as he brought his eyes up to once again scan his surroundings.
They were currently crossing a section of barren land, with trees off in the distance on both sides. The view was uninspiring and as dreary as it had been for the entire time they'd been travelling along this section of road, with the springtime weather bringing clouds that kept the day cool and gray. Absently, d'Artagnan hoped they would not get rain, dreading the thought of being both bored as well as miserably wet and cold. Ahead, he was surprised to see a man slowly tip and fall from his horse to land with a dull thud on the partially-frozen ground beneath their feet. As he turned his head toward the Captain in confusion, he heard the sound of a wasp pass beside his ear and he frowned as his mind tried to process the incongruity of the noise with their surroundings.
The loud noise of a harquebus discharging reached his ears and he jerked with the realization that someone had fired a weapon. As his eyes landed on the Captain, he was shocked to see the man jerk in the saddle before slowly beginning to fall to one side. Without thought, d'Artagnan grabbed for Treville's arm, catching the older man before he swayed from his horse and, with the action, sound returned in a rush, events around him suddenly quickening. Others had noticed as well and were already turning toward their attackers, a handful of men raising from the ground while more poured from the trees at their right.
His horse danced nervously beneath him as he scanned the area, trying to determine how to get the Captain to safety, the man having fallen quiet as he grasped his right elbow and barely remained upright in his seat. As the Gascon watched more of his comrades fall under the devastating attack, he reached for Treville's reins, deciding to make for the safety of the trees on their left, spurring both their horses into a canter. With his attention on the Captain, d'Artagnan failed to notice the approaching rider who was aiming a pistol at them. At the last possible moment, he spotted movement in his peripheral vision and threw himself at his commanding officer, bringing them both tumbling to the ground as the weapon discharged.
to be continued...