Author's Note: This is my annual seasonal offering and my 'thank you present' to all the lovely people who have read and reviewed my stories this year. It is twelve chapters long (of course) and features all four of the musketeers. I will get one chapter up a day it all goes well. Huge thank you to JenF who graciously agreed to proof as a very last minute project. As always love to hear your comments, criticisms, and corrections. And of course I own nothing and mean no harm.
"It's a damn tree!"
Aramis heartily laughed before he began to tease his friend for stating the blatantly obvious. "Your powers of observation, my dear Porthos, never fail to amaze me." The deep scowl Aramis was subjected to didn't deter him from continuing with his bedeviling. "What, pray tell, was your first clue? The fragrant scent? The majestic, sweeping, green boughs? The needles littering the floor?"
Porthos took a few steps closer to the object in question, appearing as if he wanted to start a brawl with it. "It ain't right. Trees belong outside, not in the middle of the throne room!" he stated empathetically, folding his powerful arms over his broad chest as if to hold his waxing temper in check.
"Joyeux Noël, my friend. You never had a tree in the Court of Miracles?" It spoke volumes of the love between the two men that Aramis would dare mock Porthos' upbringing.
"And you had one in your house?" Porthos questioned the marksman, skeptically.
"A tree, no. My parents considered it sacrilegious. But we did have a beautiful, hand carved, wooden la crèche." Aramis walked over and draped a casual arm over Porthos' shoulder as he gazed at the stately tree gracing the center of the majestic room.
D'Artagnan strolled up alongside of them, coming to a halt on other side of Porthos. He too turned his eyes upon the twenty foot tall evergreen. "We never had a tree either. My Da said a Yule log was good enough for him. A tree, he said, was a silly custom brought here by foreigners and was only for the nobles."
All eyes in the room immediately swiveled to stare at the fourth member of the group who was standing off to the side looking bored, as he lounged against the wall. The green eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat, rose slightly to gaze at the fir tree standing on the inlaid tile floor.
With a definite air of detachment, Athos recited, "Sapin de noël or arbre de noël, if you prefer. The first tree is said to have been at Alsace, and was decorated with apples, paper roses and candy. It is also customary to put candles on the branches to symbolize the venue of Christ, 'the light that illuminates the world'."
"Candles on a tree?" Porthos jeeringly scoffed. "Sounds like a good way to burn your house down."
Aramis nodded in agreement, as he dropped his arm from Porthos' shoulder.
With an indifferent shrug, Athos replied, "I didn't indicate it was an intelligent custom."
"So you had a tree in your mansion?" d'Artagnan unceremoniously asked, turning to face the former Comte de la Fère.
Athos' eyes switched from the tree, at which he'd been staring, to the Gascon's face, though he still appeared bored by the conversation. "Yes. My mother felt, for whatever reason, it was...proper. And for the record, it's not particularly expensive to obtain one. An axe and a little labor. An act most people could perform."
"And by anyone, you mean one of your servants," Aramis suggested innocuously, though the twinkle in his eye said the comment was anything but innocent.
"Yea," D'Artagnan agreed. "Us poor farmers are too busy eking out a living to be cutting down trees for decoration. If we cut down a tree on our farm it was for a purpose, like making a fire to keep warm. Practical."
A slight head incline by Athos acknowledged the validity of the two previous comments. "We also had a crèche. One that had been in the family for generations. Passed from Comte to Comte." After pausing for a reflective minute, he added, "When my father died, it became mine. I suppose it was consumed in the fire." And though he didn't say it, the words 'another thing I destroyed' practically rang though the air.
Trying to lighten the mood, which was turning overly somber, Aramis jokingly asked, "And did Père de Noël visit your house and leave gifts in your shoes?"
"No," Athos said succinctly, as he pushed off the wall and began moving towards the room's exit. "Though, it was my family's... responsibility... to provide gifts to be given to the children of Pinon to celebrate the season. Like the generations before him, my father took a sack of gifts, much like Père de Noël, and gave them to the inn keeper in Pinon who made sure they were anonymously distributed to the children of the village."
Athos stopped a few feet from the door, turned, and glanced back at the gigantic tree before letting his eyes sweep over his companions. "But Père de Noël never visited our house." He sighed and gave a small indifferent shrug. "I always assumed it was because I never measured up to the 'good' part of the legend." Turning his back on his brethren, he brusquely headed out the door. "I'm going to check the grounds."
The three musketeers watched in silence as the morose musketeer left the throne room. "Have you noticed he has been edgy the last few weeks?" Aramis suggested thoughtfully. The trio glanced at each other, sharing an unvoiced consensus with Aramis' statement. The marksman reached out a hand to stop D'Artagnan, who had started to trail after their departing lieutenant.
"It is never a good sign, when he goes off alone," D'Artagnan groused, as he was brought to a halt by Aramis' hand. The boy pushed his hair off his face in frustration. ''Why is he reluctant to let us help with his troubles? Doesn't he know we'd never condemn him for his actions?"
Aramis grasped the boy behind the neck in a comforting gesture. "Athos' trust has been abused, not only by strangers, but by people who were supposed to love and support him. He has been deeply hurt and it will always be his first instinct to distance himself from humanity." Dropping his hand back to his side, he smiled benignly at his two companions. "We should feel blessed, honored even, that he has let us into his life. It hasn't been easy for him. It is our duty never to break that trust for, if we do, I fear it will put him into a dark place that can only lead to his self-destruction."
At that moment, the King strode into the room with his aides and Captain Treville hustling close behind. Clapping his hands in delight, he smiled broadly as he circled once about the tree before coming to halt in front of it. "Excellent specimen. Perfect. Truly majestic, just like me," he simpered and all his aides rushed to assure him that both the tree and his majesty were magnificent.
The Captain moved to his men's side. "Where is Athos?" he inquired, noting his lieutenant's absence.
"Out. Checking the grounds. Alone," D'Artagnan answered truthfully.
The Captain knew there was more to this story, but now wasn't the time or place to delve into it. "His Majesty plans to host a party to celebrate the season. Though it has been suggested to His Majesty that a display of opulence might not be a good idea, the King has made up his mind. He doesn't seem to understand how this severe weather is negatively effecting the people."
"People are scrambling for food to eat and fuel to keep warm and he wants to have a party!" Porthos grumbled under his breath, which earned him a pointed glare from his Captain.
"Whether or not we agree, we have been given our orders. I expect every one of my Musketeers to do his duty and protect the King and his royal guests. Do I make myself clear?" the Captain challenged his men.
"Of course, Sir," Aramis smoothly interjected, as he gave Porthos a small poke in the ribs and a minuscule shake of his head to tell him to keep quiet.
When Captain Treville spoke again, his words were sympathetic, not harsh. "We don't have to like our duty, but we have sworn to do it. Find Athos, then head back to the garrison. Tell him I expect a security plan first thing in the morning."
"Oh, Treville," the King's voice rang out across the room. "Come here."
"Coming, Your Majesty," he acknowledged the summons. "Tell Athos, I expect a well-thought out plan and not something hastily thrown together after a night of over-indulgence." With that final warning, the Captain hurried across the room to His Majesty's side.
"The Captain knows, doesn't he, that something is off with Athos?" D'Artagnan astutely remarked to his friends.
"Like a good shepherd, the Captain is aware when his sheep have strayed. Gentlemen, let us go find our lost sheep and drag his wooly hide back to the garrison for a sober night of strategic planning." Clapping his friends on their shoulders, Aramis urged them towards the door.
"Not too sober I hope. Athos is handful when he is drunk, but even more so when he is sober and doesn't want to be," Porthos groused.
They walked outside into the deepening twilight caused by the shortening of the days as the year wound down to its final month. "The Captain isn't a brute. He didn't say no wine. That would be irreverent to ask of a Frenchman. We simply have to keep it to a reasonable amount. And that will be your job, D'Artagnan. Keep Athos reasonably sober."
"Me!" D'Artagnan exclaimed, staring at Aramis in disbelief. "Why me? You've known him longer than I have. It should be your job."
"Nah," Porthos replied, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. "All part of your training, pup."
Porthos and Aramis quickly walked away leaving D'Artagnan trailing behind muttering about the injustice of the situation.
Though if truth be told, Aramis and Porthos did know their friend better than the youngest musketeer and tonight was going to be hell for them all. No matter what, Athos wasn't going to be happy and wasn't going to be shy about expressing his unhappiness.