It was Christmas Eve and D'Artagnan was more tired than he could ever remember being, and that was saying a lot. Being a Musketeer kept him on the move far more than he would have thought, but he loved every minute of it. Mostly. Tonight he was glad to be so tired, glad that he would fall to sleep the minute his head touched his pillow, for thoughts of his first Christmas without his father, wore upon him like the weight of the world.
"Where are you going, whelp?" Porthos queried, grabbing D'Artagnan by the arm and turning him back towards the Garrison gates after the stable boys came to take care of their horses.
D'Artagnan frowned at his big friend. "To bed," he stated, letting his confusion show. "It's late."
Aramis came up on his other side, draping an arm over D'Artagnan's shoulders. "Tis late," he allowed, but it's Christmas Eve, and Christmas day in just minutes, so we must celebrate. We force Athos to participate every year."
"He has no choice," Porthos interjected, leaning in to faux whisper in D'Artagnan's ear. "We celebrate in his rooms, and we make him provide the wine."
"But I take care of the feast," Aramis popped in, drawing D'Artagnan back his way again.
Athos fell into step to rescue D'Artagnan, pulling him away from the others and guiding him back out of the Garrison. "I have a most excellent wine that I've been saving for tonight," he said, offering a hint of a smile.
Which surprised D'Artagnan enough that he went along with them without a fuss. He found himself smiling as Athos continued telling stories of celebrations past, Aramis and Porthos chiming in here and there with their own memories. By the time they reached Athos' rooms, D'Artagnan felt a bit less weary, although he did stumble a bit and soon found himself sitting on Athos' bed while Aramis fussed over him.
"Anything hurt besides your ribs?" Aramis queried, as he undid D'Artagnan's belts and tossed aside his weapons so that he could get his hands on the boy. He finally reached skin and pressed practiced fingers against D'Artagnan's left side.
"I'm fine," D'Artagnan protested, trying to wriggle away, only to find Porthos sitting beside him with an arm around his shoulders to hold him in place. In truth he was sore and aching all over but he knew it wasn't serious. He just needed a good night's sleep.
Porthos heaved a dramatic sigh. "Sure you are," he drawled. "And why wouldn't you be? It's not like you got thrown into a tree or anything."
D'Artagnan heaved a sigh of his own, wincing at the memory of the giant of a man, twice the size of Porthos, who had attacked them with the intent of killing his Musketeer brothers. D'Artagnan had seen him first and had been closest. He had called a warning before attacking the giant, only to find himself tossed aside like a broken doll when he stabbed the hulk in the belly. The brute had smacked his sword aside with one hand and tossed D'Artagnan into the wind with another. It wasn't his fault that a tree had been in the way.
"How is your head?" Aramis interjected, his fingers now moving through D'Artagnan's dark hair.
"Fine!" D'Artagnan repeated, smacking Aramis' hand aside. "I'm sore and tired but perfectly fine," he stated.
Aramis turned to Athos, who had been watching from close by. "He's bruised but nothing is broken," he confirmed.
Athos nodded, looking relieved and pleased. "Then it's time to celebrate." Turning, he pointed to a side table filled with food and wine and wrapped bundles. "I asked Treville to take care of things should we be late."
"Well done!" Porthos exclaimed, rising to his feet and striding over to grab a plate which he filled with meats and cheese and fruits.
"Come and eat," Athos invited, pulling D'Artagnan to his feet.
Although he wasn't really hungry, D'Artagnan filled a plate and joined his Musketeer brothers around the small table in the corner. They ate and laughed and D'Artagnan basked in the company of his friends even as he felt his eyelids grow heavy.
Athos noticed D'Artagnan nodding off and placed a hand on his shoulder as he announced, "It's now officially Christmas."
"Time for presents then," Porthos stated, rising to his feet and retrieving the bundles on the side table. He moved to set them down in front of D'Artagnan. "Merry Christmas, lad."
"Open them," Aramis prompted, when D'Artagnan simply started at the bundles in disbelief.
Eyes lifting to study the men surrounding him, all of them smiling, even Athos, D'artagnan asked, "They're all for me?"
Athos nodded. "Indeed. We give each other what we need throughout the year, but since you're one of us now, we wanted to give you something."
"You didn't have to do that," D'Artagnan protested, even though he was deeply touched by the gesture.
"We wanted to." Porthos ruffled his hair before pointing to the presents. "Now open them already!"
So D'Artagnan set to it, accepted the bundle Aramis handed to him and untying the ribbon that held the wrapping together. He stared at what was revealed for a moment before lifting up two shirts. This gift meant the world to him for he had only had two shirts left to his name and one had been ruined in battle just a few weeks ago. "I...I can't thank you all enough," D'Artagnan whispered, his voice husky with emotion.
Aramis gave him a one-armed hug, grounding him before saying, "Don't thank us yet, there's more to open."
"But this is more than enough," D'Artagnan countered, only for Athos to dump another bundle in his lap. Getting the hint, D'Artagnan said no more as he untied the ribbon to reveal a beautiful pair of dark-brown boots. The detail was exquisite and the leather had a rich shine to it. "Oh..." D'Artagnan whispered, as he ran his hands over the cuffs. He didn't know what to say.
"Now this one," Porthos prompted, holding out the last bundle.
D'Artagnan accepted it, even as Athos nimbly removed the boots from his grasp. Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the generosity of his friends, D'Artagnan was almost afraid to open this bundle, for it was the biggest of them all, and he found himself holding his breath as he undid the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping. "Oh...oh..." He felt tears well up in his eyes and he blinked them back rapidly as he lifted the items from their wrappings. Carefully, D'Artagnan unfolded a new set of leathers. A beautiful set of Bronze leather breeches with a matching doublet, the leather pliable and soft as butter under his fingertips as he stroked across the elaborate stitching. Eyes wet and a bit blurry, D'Artagnan lifted his head to stare at his friends. He couldn't think of a single word to say, for there were no words to reveal how touched he was. How grateful. How overwhelmed.
Porthos stared back, looking worried. "Don't you like them?"
"No..." D'Artagnan whispered, pausing to clear his throat against the lump of emotion that had suddenly lodged there. "I...I love them. I love everything, I do. But...it's too much. I don't deserve - "
"Stop right that!" Athos interjected, cutting D'Artagnan off and moving to kneel before him. "You deserve this and much more. You're a good man, a good Musketeer and a good friend, D'Artagnan. We are proud of you and proud that you stand with us."
Aramis broke the weight of the moment a bit by ruffling D'Artagnan's hair with warm tenderness. "And proud to be your friends," he finished.
Only for Porthos to add his say. "Proud to be your brothers, whelp." And with that he gathered D'Artagnan into his arms, clothes and all, and hugged him hard.
D'Artagnan managed to cling to his gifts with one arm while freeing the other to hug back. He let Porthos ground him for a long moment, while he gathered his thoughts and sorted his emotions. When he felt ready he stepped back and smiled at them all. "I can't thank you all enough for everything. But it's so much."
"It's nothing," Athos countered, taking D'Artagnan by the arm and making him sit again. "I put up the money, of which I have more than enough," he said firmly, staving off the objection D'Artagnan was about to make.
"I bought the supplies and made the boots," Porthos piped in, then he pointed to Aramis. "He made everything, and no finer stitching will be found in all of Paris."
D'Artagnan whole-heartedly agreed. "Your workmanship is beautiful, Aramis. Thank you. My thanks to all of you." Reverently setting the clothing back into its wrapping, D'Artagnan moved to his belts, that Aramis had tossed aside earlier when checking him for injuries. He retrieved a leather pouch and brought it over to the table. He opened it and carefully withdrew three wooden carvings. "I have gifts for you all as well," D'Artagnan said, as he lined up the figurines.
Athos reached out and gently touched one of the carvings with a fingertip, tracing the intricate details with a touch of awe. "Where did you get these?"
"Uh...I made them," D'Artagnan confessed, feeling a uncertain and nervous. "I haven't tried my hand at carving since I was fifteen, so they're anything but perfect." He reached out and picked up the carving of a bear standing on his hind legs and held it out to Porthos. "This is for you. You remind me of a bear. Strong and fierce and loyal. I know that you will always be there, protecting us with your strength."
"It's amazing," Porthos said, his hand shaking a bit as if fearful of breaking the carving. But once in his hand he brought it close to his face to study it carefully. "It looks so real. My thanks, D'Artagnan. And, you're right, I will always protect the lot of you for as long as there is breath in my body."
D'Artagnan smiled, feeling pleased and relieved, for Porthos truly seemed to like his gift. He then picked up the fox and handed it to Aramis. "This is for you. You're smart and wily and crafty like a fox. Being clever has helped us many a time and I thank you for that."
"I am a bit crafty and definitely smart," Aramis replied, smirking a bit before his expression turned serious as he studied his carving. "This truly is amazing, D'Artgnan. Who taught you to do such work?"
"My Grandfather. He started teaching me when I was nine and he died three years later." The memory of his Grandfather was not painful so much as bitter sweet. "My mother encouraged me to continue learning the craft and I did so on my own until she died when I was fifteen." He fell silent, for that memory was painful.
Athos reached out to grip his shoulder. "Leaving you alone with your father?" he asked, seeming to understand where D'Artagnan's thoughts were heading.
Sniffling back a fresh well of tears, D'Artagnan swiped a hand over his eyes then nodded, before grabbing the carving of a Stallion that looked like it was running. "This is for you, Athos. You are powerful and proud even though you are aristocratic, you have this untamed air about you." D'Artagnan broke off, feeling suddenly embarrassed, all the more so when Porthos snorted back a laugh. But when he dared a glance at Athos, he saw that his mentor was smiling.
As if sensing D'Artagnan's gaze upon him, Athos looked up from the carving. "It's beautiful. Thank you, D'Artagnan." Taking a step forward, he gathered D'Artagnan into his embrace.
It wasn't like Athos to hug anyone, so D'Artagnan was shocked by the action at first, but then he found himself hugging back, almost clinging to him and he didn't care. In his father's absence, D'Artagnan realized that Athos had come to mean security and wisdom and home to him. He was someone D'Artagnan could believe in and rely on. They all were, but Athos had taken up residence in D'Artagnan's heart in a way that was both unexpected, but welcome.
"Merry Christmas," D'Artagnan whispered, finally easing back and offering them all a wobbly smile.
"Merry Christmas," they chorused back to him, before Porthos and Aramis completed the circle.
And in that moment D'Artagnan knew that he would not ever be alone again for these men, his brothers, made the circle of his life complete.
THE END