Hey! Nope, I don't own anything. And this idea came to me after watching Xena, "A Day in Life" (S02E15) thinking the Musketeers probably have a bit of fun on their journeys. I hope you'll enjoy it. I don't have anyone to beta for me, but please point out my mistakes as English is not my first language :)

And oh, horses names… 'Roger' we know is the name of Tom Burke's horse, probably not Athos'… But I like it. And 'Buttercup' is a skinny, roan draft horse … But I like it. And I read some story where Aramis calls his horse 'Belle'… And I like that too. So now, what is Porthos' horse called?

Good Company

"I ponder on the lesson of
My life's insanity
Take care of those you call your own
And keep Good Company."
- Queen.

"Are we there yet?"

Athos turned slightly in the saddle, sending his younger comrade a cold stare that could make any man lose their words. But it didn't seem to be helping with d'Artagnan. For the last hour or so, the same phrase had been uttered more than a dozen times.

"You can stare all you want, Athos, but if you gave me a proper answer I might stop asking."

Athos rolled his eyes quietly, turning in his seat, moving his gaze back in front of himself. He eyed the quiet woods, the wide path they had been on for what felt like an eternity, the trees that all looked the same. The bushes on his left looked familiar… Were they riding in circles? Again?

"We should've stopped and asked someone for directions."

"I'm not lost." He quickly responded to Aramis' voice behind him.

The bellowing laughter of Porthos that followed, joined in by Aramis and d'Artagnan, was like a cruel statement that none of them believed in him. Well, Athos might be lost, but he would never give up his pride just to commit that. He would find the right path sooner or later. Right now he had given his stallion Roger free reins, hoping that the horse had better sense of direction than he did. Horses usually did. But then again… If Roger had a good sense of direction, they shouldn't have gotten lost in the first place.

A tug on the ropes tied to his saddle made him look over his shoulder, and Roger halted. Bastien Travert, the mad criminal who had pillaged and plundered his way through France, and whom they had been escorting from Saint-Nazaire for the last couple of days, had stopped in his tracks, digging the heels into the dirt like an anchor. Even though Roger had stopped, didn't mean d'Artagnan's slightly-more-clumsy horse Buttercup would stop. Not really aware of her surroundings, her wide, black chest smacked straight into Bastien's back, knocking him down on his knees. Only then did she stop, to take a step backwards and lowering her head, wondering what had blocked her path. D'Artagnan himself leaned forward, his arms resting on the pommel of the saddle, looking down at the man on the ground.

"What now?" Athos asked as he turned Roger sideways, as Bastien scrambled to his feet, wiping the mud off his hands towards his trousers, looking with betrayed eyes back at Buttercup.

"You might be comfortable on your horses, but my feet are tired, and I know that we passed this place at least twice. The road is long enough from Saint-Nazaire to Paris, even when you're not walking in circles. I promised to follow you without trouble, but it is growing to become ridiculous."

Athos looked apathetically at the man tied in four different ropes down on the road, before looking up at his three brothers. They were all smiling amused.

"I'm not lost. I've travelled these roads a hounded times," Athos sighed, but then added before anyone could interrupt him. "But this seems like a good place to stop at. There's a clearing in the trees up there, and if my ears are not mistaken, there should be a stream nearby. Why don't we stop for a moment to eat, and Aramis, while we set up, you could scout for us?"

"Meaning, you sit down to rest and I go and see if I can find the right path out of here?"

Aramis gave Athos one of his gleaming smiles, before urging his mare Belle on before his leader had time to give him an answer. He handed Athos the rope holding Bastien, and pushed Belle into a canter, disappearing down the path.

Upon Aramis return, the other had settled up in the long grass, still soft after last night's early spring rain. Bastien was tightly tied to a tree, but still given enough room to move so he could eat with his tied hands.

A small fire was raging in the centre of the three men who were sitting down in the grass. D'Artagnan was cleaning his rapier, as Porthos was cooking some fish over the flames. It was usually Aramis job to do the cooking, but Porthos was at least better than the young and inexperienced d'Artagnan, and definitely better than the former Comte that would get everything served on silver platter. The latter man was rummaging through his saddlebag; his puffy white shirt and trousers sprawled across the bum of Roger, drying in the sun.

Aramis rode up next to him, smiling as he dismounted. "Why are you so wet?"

Athos looked up at him while pulling dry trousers out of his saddlebag. "I caught us some fish."

"You know, you can always remove the clothes before you get into the water, so you don't have to hang them to dry after." Aramis pointed out with a smirk, having a slight feeling that Athos had ended up in the water faster than he had intended. In this group, it happened now and again.

Athos decided not to answer, instead he just laced up his spare trousers and put his hands on his hips. The silver locket dangled against his bare skin. "Did you find another path?"

"Yes." Aramis smiled, while undoing Belle's girth to give her some room to breath, and tying up the reins under her throatlatch to make sure she didn't accidentally step on the reins and hurt her mouth while he let her graze of the fresh grass. He then joined Athos for the walk up to the fireplace, where Porthos handed them both some smoked fish.

"Well?" Porthos asked as Aramis sat down next to him.

"The road divides about a mile up, we've been going left both times we passed there, but if we go right instead… Voilà, the road to Paris."

All eyes moved to look at Athos, who seemed to be extremely occupied with the fish in his hands at this very moment. They all laughed it off, they knew he would never, ever commit to being lost, no matter how apparent it was.

After they had eaten and relaxed for a bit, they all went back to their horses, and Athos got dressed again, as his clothes had dried nicely towards Roger's summer coat. While his head and arms were flailing somewhere inside the linen sweater, he heard the distinct noise of a dagger being drawn from someone's scabbard, and feet approaching his own. Knowing his dagger was still hanging over his saddle with his other weapons, he did a run-through in his head how to deal with it. He had a slight feeling as to who would be pulling a dagger at him while unprepared, and why the others were not there to defend him.

Popping his head out of his sweater, his hands still in the sleeves, he spun around and grabbed the hand holding the blade aimed at him, twisting it while spinning around in a swift motion, grabbing a hold of the neck of his attacker, and shoving him roughly face first into the thick leather of his heavy saddle. Roger huffed but didn't move as d'Artagnan jumped away, rubbing his chin. That would probably leave a mark. Athos gave him a tiny, faint smile, while handing him the dagger back, before grabbing his leather jacket and pulled it over his shoulders.

"One day he will hurt you Athos." Porthos grinned as he put the foot in the stirrup and jumped up on his horse.

"Still, never going to happen." Athos said dryly before putting the hat on his head, and heaving himself up on Roger, looking back at d'Artagnan who had a sour look upon his face as he got himself up on Buttercup.

"Just wait for it Athos. One day I will get you."

Athos sent him another dry smile, just a slight curve of the lips, before urging Roger past him.

Athos and Aramis rode up next to each other, both of them wanting to lead the way, but not going to let the other one do it. Deciding that it would be best with both of them up there, they both gave up the fight after a couple of minutes to ride in silence. Bastien was once again walking in between the four horses, with the four different ropes tied to hands and waist.

Porthos and d'Artagnan settled in the back, looking at each other before Porthos begun to whistle.

D'Artagnan soon joined the happy tune, and of course it didn't take long before Aramis let out a tune to whistle along with his friends. Athos scowled at the sound from his friends, and once again his hand began rummaging through his saddlebag, pulling up one of the bottles of wine he had hidden among his garments. Popping the cork he allowed the thick, red liquid wash down his throat. As he was putting the bottle back into the bag, he realized the whistling had quieted down. Looking over at his friends, he was met by confused looks.

"What now?"

"You have wine and you haven't shared it? We've been on the road for a week and a half!" Porthos growled.

"You've had wine."

"At the inns we've stopped at. But you… you have it in your bags!"

"Gentlemen. We've been brothers for many years. I thought by now you would know I always carry wine."

Porthos looked for a moment like he was about to protest, but then realized that Athos was right. He should know by now. They knew each other well enough. And Athos was never really sober. So instead of pressing the issue – but of course planning on stealing the bottle at their next stop – he shrugged his shoulders and begun whistling again.

He was soon joined by Aramis and d'Artagnan's whistling voices again, as the caravan turned right as the path divided.