Happy Advent, everyone! Yes, I'm still around though I haven't been on here for months. Without boring you rigid, I've been very busy between family issues, a busy term teaching, hopefully finishing up my PhD before Christmas, and tackling global poverty (genuinely, it's the area I work in). As a little Christmas present to the Musketeers fandom that has been so wonderful and welcoming to me over the past year, I will post four little Christmas stories about the musketeers as children, lighting a little fanfic candle every Sunday leading up to Christmas. Hope you enjoy!

Paris, 1604

"Are you cold, maman?" Porthos whispered, tugging at his mother's skirts.

She smiled down at him, but couldn't suppress a shiver. "A little," she admitted.

"It's alright," Porthos said and held out his arms. "I'll warm you."

She picked him up and settled him onto her hip. He slung his arms around her neck and giggled as she wrapped them both in her woollen shawl. She pressed a soft kiss onto his curly hair.

"You aren't cold?" she asked.

"I'm never cold," he said, grinning.

"I'm so glad," his mother answered. "Are you bored?"

Porthos shook his head. True, he didn't understand what the priests said. They spoke God's language and that was different from what normal people spoke. His maman had explained that to him. It sounded nice. Porthos supposed that was because it was God's language and people only said nice things in God's language.

"The singing is pretty," he said. He craned his neck, trying to see above the heads of the crowd. There were a lot of people at church that day because they were celebrating the day Jesus was born. That was very important. The people in front of them shifted slightly and he was finally able to take it all in.

"Ooh," Porthos made, his eyes going wide.

"Shh, remember we are guests here, don't be loud."

"Sorry," Porthos whispered. "But look! There are pictures, and they have a real cloth on the big table, and everything is gold, and, maman, it's beautiful!"

His mother chuckled softly. "You have expensive tastes, my little prince."

"But it's beautiful," Porthos repeated.

"So are you, little one," his mother said and rubbed their noses together.

Porthos smiled and looked at her. She was really beautiful as well.

"When I'm big I'll be really good and then we can live in a big house all of our own and we can have pretty pictures and a cloth and we can have candles that always burn and a big fire so it's always warm and never dark..."

She smiled at him like she didn't believe him. Porthos furrowed his brow.

"When I'm big, I'll make sure you have everything," he confirmed.

She smiled, but her eyes looked a little bit sad.

"You just be healthy and happy, Porthos," she said. "That's all I need from you."

He couldn't understand why she was sad when they were in a beautiful church and it was the day when Jesus was born and there was pretty singing. It was a good day.

"I'm always happy," he said. "And I'm not like the little babies who die. I'm a big boy and I'm strong."

"My little lion," she said and tightened her grip on his body.

Porthos knew what a lion was. He had never seen one, but his maman had told him. It looked a little like a cat, but it was as big as a horse. It had a mouth so big it could swallow a man without chewing. Porthos really wanted to see a lion.

He snuggled against his mother, resting his head on her shoulder and yawning. He had not slept much earlier because he had been so excited about going to church at night.

"When I'm a big lion, you don't have to be afraid any more," he said. "When I'm big, I'll be the biggest, strongest lion in Paris."

He roared a little to underline his words, but only very softly because he didn't want to be rude.

"There are a lot of big, strong lions in the world," his mother said. "But not many good ones. I just want you to be a good one."

Porthos nodded, head still pressed against her shoulder.

"Do you remember the story about Daniel and the lions?"

Of course Porthos remembered it. His mother knew many stories, but that was one of his favourites. There were a lot of lions in that story.

"They put Daniel in the pit with the lions because the bad people thought that the lions would eat him," his mother continued. "But the lions listened to God and didn't eat Daniel."

"'Cause Daniel was a good man," Porthos said.

"That's right," his mother said. "And the lions were good lions."

She hugged him tighter and brushed a hand through his hair.

"When you're a lion, always be a good lion who listens to God. And when you meet someone as good as Daniel, you take care of them. You always take care of them."

"I take care of you, maman."

"Yes, you do," she said and pressed a kiss to his hair. "And you'd take care of Daniel, too."

Porthos thought about that for a moment.

"Daniel must be cold in that pit with the lions," he said. "I'd keep him warm."

He felt her chest shudder with what he assumed was a silent laugh. He liked it when his mother laughed.

"You'll make a fine lion one day, little prince."

"Yes, maman," Porthos whispered.

He watched the flickering light of the many, many candles for a little longer, enjoying the adventure of being at church in the middle of the night. Eventually, he let his mother's warmth and the gentle murmur of voices lull him to sleep. He hoped that Jesus didn't mind. It really was very late for a birthday party.

That night, Porthos dreamt he wasn't a scrawny boy from the Court of Miracles, but a mighty lion who needn't be afraid of anyone. And when he saw a good man, he took care of him. He made sure the good man was warm and that no bad lions could ever reach him.