We Are Made For Better Days
By Greenlips24
Here we go with the back story to Four Is a Bond Now Broken, set some six months later; where we learn the "who" and the "why."
CHAPTER ONE – A Question of Honour
Athos's room, evening:
Athos sits quietly looking at d'Artagnan, across the table they share.
The light from the large candle he had lit earlier plays across his face and reflects in his eyes, as he looks warmly at the young man.
"Have I told you that I am proud of you?" he says quietly.
"Don't"
Athos frowns.
"You're saying goodbye."
oOo
One week earlier:
Athos worked steadily in the stable, readying his horse for the short journey to the Palace later that day. He had a habit of brushing Roger himself before each ride, and kept the brush on the shelf in Roger's stall, where it was acknowledged that no-one should touch it, but him. He turned mid stroke as he heard someone behind him.
A fellow Musketeer stood watching him. Athos could not place him at first but knew he had certainly seen him around the Garrison, though he had not actually engaged with him before.
"I did not mean to disturb you, Lieutenant" said the man. He was taller than Athos, with prematurely greying hair, a grey beard and deep lines either side of his nose running down to the corners of his mouth. What looked like a permanent frown marked his brow.
Athos returned to brushing the stallion, which was growing restless from the lack of attention.
"I am not disturbed, ...?" Athos murmured, turning and raising an eyebrow in enquiry.
"LeSavage."
"Ah, yes, my apologies." Athos silently chided himself at his rudeness for not knowing the man's name.
"You cannot be expected to know all the men by name. I expect you recognise them by skill," LeSavage answered, walking past Athos to the back of the stable.
"And I have been away on several missions, and on light duties for some weeks, so our paths have not crossed," he added, absently picking up a broom.
Athos stopped brushing and turned around to look at him. He placed him now, he was the ex-mercenary Treville had employed a several months ago. Aramis had told him about their encounter outside the paper merchants, when they had wrongly suspected the man was involved in his disappearance during the summer. He shuddered slightly as he thought of that time, up until now pushed firmly to the back of his mind, only remembered occasionally when he caught sight of the faint mark on his eyebrow.
Athos did not really want to get into a long conversation with the man, but he was curious.
"Tell me, why did you seek a commission with The Musketeers?" Athos found himself asking.
"I was drawn to the notion of honour," the man replied.
Athos could not catch the tone, but it was not altogether warm. He shifted to pick up his saddle and throw in over the stallion's back.
"Yet, you fought for money?" Athos said, picking up the bridle from the nearby post.
"I did not have a fine estate to fall back on," LeSavage said, not shifting his gaze from Athos.
Athos tilted his head at that, absorbing the barbed reply.
"So you chose to kill indiscriminately, for payment?" Athos continued, stung by the insinuation of a man who did not know him.
"Are we so dissimilar, you and I?" LeSavage asked Athos, quietly.
Athos paused and looked at the ground, steadying his breathing.
"I do not kill lightly" Athos said, his voice low with anger.
"But you are a trained killer. You kill viciously. You kill with no apparent concern as to your victim's family. You follow orders and kill for others when it is not your battle,"
"I wonder where the honour is in that." he added, with a smile, conscious that he had maybe taken this too far.
Athos could only partly agree with that statement, but remained silent.
LeSavage walked past him then, turning once more to look at Athos.
"Pay me no mind; I am resigning my commission shortly. This notion of honour is not one I recognise, but I am bound by duty, and will leave when I have fulfilled that."
Athos watched LeSavage's back thoughtfully as he left the stable.
It had not been a comfortable conversation.
To be continued.