A/N: So I hope you all enjoy this story. I'm certainly rather fond of it, though I am currently stuck on chapter 3. I am also still brainstorming the "d'art had a sister" fic so don't worry, those of you who wanted to see that, but for now, this is what I'm working on. Beta-ed by placeofold on tumblr.
Athos, for the most part, had contented himself with wallowing in misery in the corner of whatever tavern he might find himself in. This one in particular had wonderfully cheap drink, even if it did taste disgusting. The fact of the matter was that he drank it because it was disgusting. His sins, real and horrifying, meant that he did not deserve good wine. He stayed in the tavern until the owner turned him out, and began to stumble back towards his lodgings on unsteady feet, faltering every few steps and cursing when he did so.
Athos' vision had become so blurred and unfocused that he did not notice the leg that was hanging out from behind a dingy alley way. He tripped and was shocked when a young lad, no more than fourteen years of age, let out a startled yelp at the weight now collapsed over his legs. The boy seemed terrified at first, Athos noticed, but when he realised that it was only a drunkard and not someone more sinister, the boy kicked him off his legs none too gently. Athos rolled off of him limply, which seemed to alarm the boy more than anything else.
Standing up, the child walked over to Athos' prone form and shook him. "Monsieur?" He inquired, hoping that the man was indeed just passed out and not dead. "Are you alive?"
The only answer the boy got was a pathetic groan, as the man rolled over on his side and promptly vomited on the street. The boy stepped back and turned his nose up at the smell, but sighed resignedly.
"I suppose I'll just have to find another place to sleep, now that you've stunk this place up" he grumbled, making to stand up and dust himself off. The boy folded his arms tightly against his chest and stood as tall as he could, Athos noticed, puffing himself up like some young pup trying to defend its territory.
Athos took a shuddering breath in as he managed to sit, blinking up at the boy while trying to clear his vision. He wiped his mouth of the last traces of vomit and grimaced at the vile taste that remained. As he slowly regained his bearings, Athos turned his attention to the child in front of him.
The boy seemed thin and it was evident that he had been sleeping on the streets for a while, if the smell of him was any indication. That he had the nerve to complain about Athos stinking up the place did not escape his attention. His clothes, though worn and simple, were not those one would expect of a gamin. Nor did the boy seem to have the presence of mind to flee from someone who could be dangerous to him as others who had known the streets for long would. Athos' eyes darted to the sword that the boy had hung from his belt. It was big for him, though his structure suggested that he would eventually grow into it, and was simply made but elegant. Athos wondered absently how such a boy could come to have such a weapon, and whether this child, who looked as though a stiff breeze would fell him, had stolen it from someone else.
The lad caught Athos staring at him and his eyes narrowed, shifting his feet and body unconsciously into a defensive stance. It was comical, really. The lad looked no more than thirteen - what did he think he could do against Athos, should the man decide that he was worth the trouble of fighting?
"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking, Monsieur" the boy said quietly, his eyes averted as he tightened his grip around the hilt protectively. "It was my father's". The statement sounded so proud and quiet, and utterly heartbroken, that Athos nodded him an apology and lowered his eyes in shame at the assumption.
"My apologies. Though I am curious, what has happened that has caused you to be so far from home young man?", because he could tell the Gascon accent a mile off, and they were quite far from there indeed. Athos watched as the boy's eyes began to mist over, and as the boy realised what was happening, his eyes narrowed and he turned to look away.
"It's not any business of yours, Monsieur" he said disdainfully, as he turned back to stare Athos down but Athos could hear the anguish in his voice as plain as day. "My father is dead, my mother and my sister are dead, and my uncle did not want the burden of caring for me, so he cast me out. All I have in this world is what you see here, Monsieur." The boy did not break eye contact at all, daring Athos to say a word. Athos conceded and bowed his head, heart despairing for the boy who had indeed lost much.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair, each lost in their memories. Finally d'Artagnan broke it. "I will say no more on the matter, Monsieur. I shall leave and let you be on your way. I am sure you cannot wish to stay out here with me all night."
"Do you have a name, lad?" Athos asked, hit with a sudden desire to extend his conversation with this sad and damaged child, and was surprised when the boy answered without any hesitation at all.
"Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony, son of the late Alexandre d'Artagnan". Athos smiled at the way the boy stood taller, and puffed his chest out proudly as he introduced himself. "And you, Monsieur?"
"You may call me Athos, if you wish". The name still felt strange on his tongue but it was the one he had decided upon, and it was staying with him from now on.
The boy frowned, before laughing at him. "Monsieur", he exclaimed, his face lighting up for the first time since he had tripped over the lad, "that is the name of a mountain." Athos nodded, smiling fondly at the boy's clear amusement. He studied the boy's face for a while, searching for something before nodding to himself, wondering if he had gone quite completely mad for what he was about to suggest.
"I am heading to Paris in the morning. If you'd like, you could come with me?"
d'Artagnan blinked owlishly at him. Was the man insane as well as drunk, or had he pickled his brain in spirits? He certainly smelled like it. D'Artagnan watched, half hopeful, half suspicious.
"Why?" He asked, genuinely curious as to Athos' reasons. He knew that Athos was a man of honour. He could sense it, as he had learnt to sense the danger or hostility in others he had met in his time on the street, but he had never been offered a place before. He had never been offered friendship before.
There were those who were all too eager to offer him "a bed for the night", and a lifetime with an older sister had given him enough knowledge to know what that meant, and he had run from them as if the devil were at his heels. This was not that though, the young Gascon was sure.
Athos, by contrast, seemed to actually care. Perhaps it was the story of his family - well, not much of the story, the bare bones of it, and even that just barely – that swayed his mind, though d'Artagnan was struggling to comprehend why. The confusion began to show on his face, and Athos smiled up at him from where he was still kneeling, reaching out a hand to place on the boy's shoulder. To his credit, d'Artagnan forgot to flinch.
"Because" Athos began, his voice regretful and grave. "I know what it is to lose everything". This was an answer which d'Artagnan could accept, and as he stared at the older man, he saw someone who was full of regret and punishing himself, as if every wrong ever done in the history of man was placed square on his shoulders.
D'Artagnan nodded, reaching out a hand to help the man stand up. He was still a little wobbly, but seemed to have regained most of the control over his limbs.
Athos smiled wryly and dusted himself off, turning to head in the direction of the inn he had been lodging at. Walking forward a few paces, he turned when he did not hear the footsteps of the boy behind him.
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Well, are you coming?"
To his credit, d'Artagnan only hesitated a few seconds longer before hurrying to catch up with him. Athos gave him a faint smile and clapped him on the back, though he didn't miss the boy's wince. He made a mental noted that and filed it away to ask about later.
"Let's get you a warm meal and a hot bath. God knows, you're dirty enough". D'Artagnan huffed and shoved him lightly, but it did not have much effect when outshone by the hesitant, but brilliant, smile adorning his face at the mere mention of a bath and the thought of being clean again. Athos was glad of that. Perhaps in raising this boy, in caring for nothing but his health and happiness, he could find his salvation.