"Perhaps Athos doesn't care about twenty dead musketeers".
"Insulting the man who holds your life in his hands, I see you are a fool as well as a coward".
For it was an insult, Athos cared more about the lives of the men under his command than he did his own. Marsac was a deserter, he wasn't there when news of the massacre reached the garrison. He did not see just how much Athos had cared about twenty dead musketeers. He would hear him out for Aramis' sake, but he did not trust him. His instincts were right five years ago.
In the days following that night, Aramis largely kept his distance. He suspected that Aramis afforded him space out of respect for the mutual understanding they had shared, perhaps he was even a little embarrassed. Regardless, Athos made a special effort to keep an eye on the boy, for even though he was not that much older himself, recent events had aged him. There existed a strange desire to protect the young musketeer from the kind of world weariness that threatened to sap every ounce of joy out of his own being. He was glad to see the haunted look that had plagued Aramis in the tavern had all but disappeared.
Athos continued to drink as much as his finances and liver would allow, but he didn't feel the need to isolate himself in out of the way taverns, content now to frequent the same haunts popular with the other musketeers. Time was, after all, a great healer, and gradually the darkness that had shrouded him for so long, began to dissipate. He could finally see the camaraderie and brotherhood surrounding him. He still kept himself to himself of course, occasionally sharing a drink with Aramis. When not trying to persuade Athos to socialise, Aramis seemed to favour the company of one musketeer in particular, friendly though he was with everyone, he always looked a little uncomfortable in larger groups. These two musketeers were among the longest serving members, there from day one. Extraverted and verbose, Marsac didn't exactly endear himself to Athos. It was simply the opposing nature of their personalities that irked him. But, as he didn't know the lad very well, he resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt. Aramis had proven himself to be a good judge of character, for the most part, his renewed determination to befriend Athos notwithstanding.
About six weeks after his arrival, there was another new face at the garrison. A rather imposing face, blemished on one side by a scar running from above his left eye, right down his cheek. Athos considered it an everyday struggle hiding his lineage, but hide it he could, for the most part. This newest addition was afforded no such luxury. His heritage was plain to see, and some of the men simply could not get past outward appearances. Aramis, unsurprisingly, was not one of them. He himself was used to the taunts often directed at those of mixed descent. They quickly became friends and Aramis encouraged him to join Marsac and himself whenever they graced a tavern with their presence. Athos was introduced to the recent recruit on one such evening, when the three musketeers had positioned themselves near to the table he was occupying alone. The new musketeer had somehow managed to incite a brawl, the upshot of which saw the burly man crash into Athos' table knocking his bottle of wine to the floor. Athos' only reaction was to avert his eyes from the fire he had been staring at, to the smashed bottle on the floor and then to the wide eyes of the horrified man as he scrambled to extricate himself from the situation. The sound of laughter caught the attention of both men. In unison they turned to seek its source. Aramis was bent at the waist, shoulders shaking as he struggled to compose himself.
"Athos, Porthos", he finally managed, Porthos, Athos".