Sun Today, Rain Tomorrow
By Rowana Silverwind
For the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for May: "April showers bring May flowers"
Disclaimer: Sadly, I not own any of the characters of the Musketeers. But I do own any mistakes you might find! I haven't had a chance to find a beta reader yet.
It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was warm and pleasant in a bright, blue sky. A gentle breeze brought with it the scents of flowers and new grass. Birds sang songs of love and passion as they flitted through bushes and trees. All in all, one couldn't ask for a more picturesque or relaxing setting to spend an afternoon.
Porthos hated it.
Every part of this day was wrong. Everything from the blinding sun, to the stinking flowers, to the annoying birds. All of it was wrong. The world had no right to be so bright and happy today. Not when inside, Porthos felt like the storm of anger and sadness would never end.
Mathys was dead.
It had been so stupid. A poorly maintained musket had misfired during training. Mathys had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now Porthos had one less friend in the world. And he already had too few to his name.
Life in the army had been hard enough. It would be even harder now without Mathys to talk to. The old soldier had a way of lightening even the darkest moods with his laughter and stories. Not to mention he was one of the only men in the unit who took Porthos seriously. Most had disregarded him either for his color or his history or both. He had gotten into more fights than he could count before Mathys had come along. He still wasn't sure what the man saw in him, but it had been nearly impossible to refuse his friendship. Before long, Mathys was teaching him everything from shooting to reading. Porthos had absorbed everything with a will, quickly gaining a reputation as a fine soldier himself, despite the fights. Things were finally starting to look up for him when this had happened.
Porthos sighed, shooting a nearby bird a dark look until it flew away. Mathys hadn't had a family so he had a simple pauper's grave and a very brief service. It seemed like a poor tribute to someone Porthos thought deserved much more. He stared down at the wooden cross over the fresh grave, trying to collect his thoughts. What would he do now? The army was all he knew outside the Court of Miracles, but it just wouldn't be the same. He could hardly go back to the Court now. He doubted Charon and Flea would forgive him so easily for leaving then. He'd also be labeled a deserter for leaving the army without leave. Being on the wrong side of the law was nothing new for him, but the idea of being called a coward didn't sit right in his soul. Best he got back to his unit he supposed. They were heading out on a training mission soon. One dead soldier was hardly cause for a pause.
"Sorry, Mathys," Porthos mumbled, shaking his head sadly. "Yah deserved better than this." He was no stranger to death. It had been a nearly everyday occurrence in the Court and the army was barely safer if there was battle. Yet that didn't make loosing a friend any easier. Charon would probably say he was soft, but that didn't keep him from caring. Caring was what kept him human. It meant life just that much more bearable, even on days like this.
Turning to go, Porthos was surprised to find he wasn't the only one in the cemetery. Another man, a soldier too by his bearing, had walked up. Porthos stepped aside to give the stranger space as he payed his respect, eyeing him curiously. It was nice to know someone else cared about Mathys, though Porthos didn't recall ever seeing this man around the unit before.
Porthos started to turn to go when the man spoke up. "He was a good soldier." Porthos paused, wondering if the man was talking to him or just to himself. "I kept telling him he aught to retire, but he never listened. Kept saying someone had to keep the young ones in line or they'd never learn."
The man sighed and turned to regard Porthos. Porthos met his gaze squarely, sizing him up on instinct. From his dress and the way he carried himself, he was definitely a fighter, but there was also an air of command about him. Certainly not an average soldier, but not a stuck up noble's son who was only in it for the uniform. Porthos could see by the man's eyes that he was giving him the same assessment and apparently liked what he saw.
"Captain Treville," the man said, holding out his hand.
Porthos took the hand and shook it firmly. "Porthos du Vallon."
Treville nodded as if he had expected as much. "Mathys spoke highly of you."
Porthos raised his eyebrow suspiciously at that. "Don't recall him ever mentioning you."
Treville let his eyes drift over the grave, his expression unreadable. "No, I don't suppose he did."
The pair were silent for a long moment, lost in thoughts of the past. Porthos wondered briefly if Mathys had known this Treville well. Given how talkative his friend had been, it was hard to believe the name had never come up if that were true. Then again, he supposed even someone like Mathys must have had his secrets. He certainly hadn't told all of his.
The sun was starting to finally drift closer to the horizon, and Porthos grumbled at it. He needed to go or he'd be late for evening muster. "Well, thanks for bein' here," he told the other man gruffly. He turned to leave again, not really expecting a response, so he was surprised when he got one.
"Why don't you join me for a drink, Monsieur du Vallon."
Treville was looking at him now with an odd look that Porthos couldn't read. The request had been more of a statement than a question. Porthos felt himself instantly on guard. He didn't like the way Treville was looking at him, as if he knew something he wasn't saying. Porthos's hand drifted closer to his sword on instinct, though Treville had made no move towards his. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, neither giving any ground.
"Kind of yah," Porthos said at last, breaking the silence first. "But we ain't friends and I have to report back to barracks."
"Your Lieutenant can wait," Treville said dismissively. "I've already informed them you'll be delayed."
Now Porthos was very suspicious and his eyes narrowed dangerous. He was mildly impressed when Treville didn't back down an inch. "And why would you do that?"
"I've been wanting to have a private word. I only wish it could be under better circumstances." Treville's eyes grew a little sad before he regained his firm composure.
Porthos snorted. He couldn't think of any reason why a Captain would want to talk to him. Unless they were thinking of arresting him for some past transgression and Treville hadn't brought nearly enough guards for that. In fact, he hadn't brought any that Porthos could see. No one was around to hear them but the dead and they wouldn't talk.
"And what words do you have for a lowly private, Captain?" he asked, his tone icy and challenging. His stance was ready and dangerous, a warning to anyone to chose their next words with care. That the man supposedly outranked him didn't bother Porthos at all. Generals went down just as easy as privates in a fair fight. They just complained about it more.
Treville still hadn't backed down. If anything, he seemed to regard Porthos' reaction with interest. "I was going to offer you a position in the Musketeers, but if that's too lowly for you..." The man's eyebrow inched up slowly.
That stopped Porthos cold. The man had to be joking and it was poor joke at that. He had heard of the Musketeers. The barracks were full of talk about the new regiment that answered directly to the King himself. Rumor even stated that the regiment's captain had been looking for skilled soldiers to recruit. Porthos hadn't put much stock in that rumor. It seemed more likely that the King would want nobles in his precious Musketeers, for all the good they would do in a fight. This Captain apparently wanted to prove that rumor wrong.
"And why would you do that?" Porthos asked finally. His eyes were suspicious.
He didn't trust Treville as far as he could throw him, which was a betting was fairly far. He couldn't believe that the King would want a half-breed, street dog like him in the Musketeers, no matter how skilled he was. Nobles were like that and he doubted the King, or Treville, would be any different. Yet part of him did want it to be true. He didn't care for nobles or kings, but to be selected to be a Musketeer was a chance to show everyone he was more than what he was. It would mean that all he'd worked for since leaving the Court might actually mean something. If it were actually true.
Treville was silent so long that Porthos half expected he had called the man's bluff after all. "Because you are honorable," he said, meeting Porthos' gaze squarely. "You are skilled fighter. You think on your feet. You never take advantage of someone weaker than you. And you never back down even when the odds are against you." Treville paused then, looking at Porthos oddly. "You can be more than just a common soldier. But the choice is yours."
The words took Porthos back to another spring day, just a few weeks before. That day had been cold and wet, but still a much happier time.
Mathys had just poured him a drink in celebration of another winning hand of cards. If the older man ever suspected Porthos of cheating, he never said and Porthos would have denied it anyway. The old soldier tipped back his mug, downing half in one go with a happy sigh.
"What do ya think of all this Musketeer talk?" Porthos asked, while he shuffled the cards for another round. He was only mildly interested, but it was always fun to hear Mathys' view on things.
"Musketeers, eh?" Mathys gave a twinkling little smile and shrugged. "I give it a year, mayhap two. If they don't get some good blood instead of spoiled boot lickers."
Porthos chuckled. "Yah think it's true they're lookin' to recruit from the ranks?"
Mathys shrugged, his eyes still twinkling merrily like he had a secret he didn't feel like sharing. "Who can say? Bet that's why old Jon-Pierre's got his buttons all shined." He nodded over at their Lieutenant, who was doing his best to look important as he eyed the men in their down time.
Porthos snorted. Jon-Pierre was an idiot in his opinion, but he had learned not to voice that opinion out loud. "Seems to me they could do better than that peacock. How 'bout you, old man?"
Mathys actually laughed outright at that, slapping his hands on the table. "Me? Nah. No one wants an old has-been like me." He sipped his drink thoughtfully, looking over at Porthos. "Adventurin' is a thing for the young. Like you, my friend."
"Oh yah?" Porthos rolled his eyes at the notion. He wasn't going to fool himself. "Like the King wants someone like me protecting his crown jewels. You've been at the wine too much again, old man."
Mathys shrugged, taking another hearty drink. "Mayhap so. But you mind what I say, Porthos." Mathys looked so serious that Porthos actually stopped dealing the cards to look at him. "Yer meant for better than this. Yer honorable, and that's a rare thing. Yah can be more than just a common soldier like me. Yah just need the right chance."
Porthos stared at him for a moment. Then he shrugged and chuckled. Mathys always got the strangest notions. Whatever he was, he wasn't sure honorable was one of them. "Whatever you say, old man. Now pick up your cards and lets have another round."
More than a common soldier. Was this the chance Mathys had been talking about? It would be just like the old joker to set something up and then die before he could finish it.
Treville had stayed silent, patiently waiting while Porthos remembered and considered. Finally, Porthos relaxed his stance and his eyebrows went up thoughtfully. Maybe he could give this a chance. If it led to something better, it might be worth the risk.
"A drink, huh?" Porthos asked. His mouth spread into a slow grin. "You're buying."
Treville returned a small smile of his own and nodded smartly. He placed his hat back on his head and started to leave the cemetery. Halfway down the path, he turned to wait. Porthos gave Mathys' grave one last look, before gazing up at the setting sun.
"This one's for you, old man."
Porthos nodded and turned to follow Treville. He was sure this would be an very enlightening drink of wine. But he was looking forward to it.
After all, tomorrow looked like rain.
AN: I hope you enjoyed this little entry! I want to extend thanks to all the wonderful writers in the Musketeer archive for inspiring me to actually pick up the pen and try writing again. It's been a long time and I'm pretty rusty, but I had fun! I hope to write some more stories in the future and would appreciate helpful reviews and comments. Don't be shy! Thank you for reading!