Merry Christmas to Marigold Faucet who initiated me into the Musketeer fandom after I had gotten her hooked on the series
La Messe de Minuit[1]
"No," Athos said with finality.
"It's Christmas," Aramis said. "You can't just ignore Christmas."
"I am not ignoring Christmas." Athos poured himself another wine. "You find me celebrating the birth of our Saviour this very minute."
"It is getting late, we need to make our way to the cathedral," Aramis said as the door closed behind the last musketeer, leaving only the four of them behind.
"Indeed, you should," Athos confirmed. "Give my regards to Archbishop de Gondi; I assure you he won't miss me."
"It's Christmas, you can't not attend mass at Christmas."
Athos raised an eyebrow, giving Aramis a look that clearly said that not only did he know he could, but he was also determined that he would.
"At home we always went to midnight mass together," d'Artagnan said. "We'd invite the whole family for réveillon[2]. Oh the food mother would prepare! And after the meal, we'd all go to church together."
Athos looked up sharply at the boy before focussing on the cup in his hands once more.
"It's a family affair..." Aramis prompted.
"Christmas is about being with those closest to you," Porthos added. "I want to spend it in your company. We might as well do that at Notre-Dame."
Aramis gave him a slight nod of the head and a proud smile. This might actually be a way of coaxing their ever-reluctant friend into a church. The Lord only knew just how desperately he needed to see one from the inside.
"Do not let me keep you from your ecclesiastical obligations," Athos said, for once every bit the haughty nobleman he was so eager to leave behind, and drained his cup. "I shall await your return."
Aramis sent a quick prayer for patience towards the wooden beams of the ceiling.
"It's mass, we are taking the communion; Pater Noster, Agnus Dei, Pax[3], then you get some wine, you might recall the sequence of events," he said. "Now if the promise of wine is not enough to sway you..."
"Not wine, the blood of Christ as you keep reminding me," Athos drawled. "And I shall leave that precious liquid to those worthy of it while I devote my time to its more worldly cousin."
He poured himself another cup of wine and raised it, a small mocking smile playing about his lips.
Aramis saw Porthos flex his fingers and briefly contemplated utilising the other's strength to knock Athos out, but decided against it. Dragging him to his salvation gagged and bound might not exactly strengthen the Christmas spirit among the other parishioners. With an exasperated sigh he looked his friend straight in the eye.
"Do it for me Athos," he said, well aware that he was begging. He gave his voice the smooth tone that never failed to earn him what he wanted. "I've only ever asked of you this one thing..."
Athos did not even deign to answer that; instead he cocked an eyebrow and drew up one corner of his mouth, fixing Aramis with a glare that spoke volumes of his disdain for his pleading.
"You know where to find me," he said evenly, focussing his attention on his drink once more.
"That's not right," d'Artagnan said, his eyes wide and a frown on his face. "Christmas is about being with those we love, like Porthos said. It's not a time to abandon your friends, you know... All for one..."
Athos head snapped up at that and he snarled at the boy. "Don't," he ground out, his voice tight and carefully controlled. "Don't you dare drag that into some religious nonsense."
"Athos! Sacrilege!" Aramis interjected, more out of habit than from any real sense of insult at the blasphemous statement.
The heavy glare was fixed on him and the snarling intensified, as Athos got up, toppling his chair backwards and roughly dragging his cloak over his shoulders. Athos' eyes were full of venom, and Aramis did his best to feign wide-eyed innocence. After all, it had not been his words that broke his friend's resolve.
Athos stalked out of the garrison and onto the street at great speed, leaving the others to hurry after him. Aramis was the first to catch up with him, smiling broadly and barely able to suppress the spring in his step as he silently congratulated himself on successfully utilising the impact the boy had on his friend. D'Artagnan was a dangerous weapon as far as Athos was concerned, even if the boy himself had no understanding of his power, and Aramis delighted in using that power carefully and to devastating effect whenever Athos was being particularly tenacious.
Athos himself still looked more thunderous than the cardinal himself. Aramis patted him on the back.
"With a face like that, you'll fit right in with the gargoyles."
He laughed and danced out of reach quickly after that, making sure to put Porthos' bulk between them, but the barb had successfully lightened the mood and they were laughing by the time they crossed the bridge to the Île de la Cité amidst a crowd of citizens. Old and young, rich and poor, everyone was on their way to the midnight mass.
As they entered the grand old cathedral and crossed themselves, Aramis breathed deeply, taking in the overpowering scent of frankincense. According to Matthew, it had been one of the gifts the magi had presented to the young Jesus, and Aramis regarded it as one of the great gift of the church to mankind. That fragrance never failed to calm the nervous energy he possessed in such abundance.
He cast a look at Athos and found him tense, not the least bit relaxed by their surroundings, but instead clenching his jaw and balling his fists at his sides. His eyes roved wildly back and forth across the crowds and he appeared ready to fight at the first sign of the trouble he seemed to expect. In fact, Athos looked very much like he was about to commence battle, and indeed, Aramis thought, this was a battle, but unfortunately one in which he could aid his friend very little.
As the mass commenced, Aramis kept a close eye on Athos. He was glad to see his friend unwind a little as he lost himself in the familiarity of the Latin rites, the accustomed interplay of chants and prayer. By the time they had reached the Pater Noster, some of the tension had melted from him, and he took the communion with only a little hesitation.
"Domine non sum dignus[4]." Aramis heard him whisper.
"Matthew 8:8," Aramis said in a low voice as they resumed their places.
"The quality of my tutors was unrivalled," Athos replied.
They stood close together, Porthos shielding them from the crowd, d'Artagnan at his side, with Athos next and Aramis himself bringing up the far end of their little row. Athos eyes remained trained on the altar, his face unmoving, but to Aramis it seemed like he breathed a little freer.
As the Glória in excelsis Deo[5] rose up to the lofty roof of the cathedral, the ancient angelic chant announcing the birth of Christ to the shepherds, Aramis glanced at Athos once more and found him with his head bowed and eyes closed, his shoulders bowed slightly, his back not quite as straight as usual.
Glória in excélsis Deo et in terra pax homínibus bonæ voluntátis.[6]
[1] French: Midnight mass
[2] French: elaborate dinner on Christmas Eve
[3] Latin: Our Father, Lamb of God, Peace — all parts of the Roman Catholic Tridentine Mass
[4] Latin: Lord I am not worthy
[5] Latin: Glory to God in the highest — part of the the Roman Catholic Tridentine Mass
[6] Latin: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will. — first line of the Gloria