If you have any ideas for this story or any of my other ones please send them my way as I do plan on starting most of them back up again. I don't own the musketeers.
As Aramis walks the dusty busy streets of Paris he pushes past the merchants selling there overpriced produce in the early morning market and starts to think of the things that he might find but when Athos' landlady lets him in he finds something he was completely unprepared for.
In the dim room he was pointed to was Athos, passed out on a chair tucked safely into a corner with a small bundle of blankets precariously balance on his chest with his arms wrapped protectively around. As the small bundle shifted it was enough to wake the sleeping musketeer. Aramis saw the tired expression that his friends face held, accompanied by the dark circles that were painted around his eyes. By the looks of things, it had been a tough night.
The first thing that Athos is met with is the stunned and confused face of Aramis but the baby in his arms starts to fuss demanding his attention. He gently scoops up the infant holding it close to his chest as he lulls it back to sleep. Wearily he rises up from the uncomfortable wooden chair and over to the small table to collect a bottle for the infant. His neck is stiff from spending the night in the chair as the baby before him refused to sleep unless being held, though this meant that he had gotten little to no sleep.
"Do you want something or are you just going to stand there gawking all day?" Athos asked with a heavy sigh referring to the other man in the room who was standing in the doorway with a glaikit look plastered on his face. Shaken out of his silence Aramis manages to stutters out "Is that a... a... baby?" Athos shoots him a glare which is only intensified by the tiredness he was experiencing and with that a blinding smile replaces the confusion on his companions face.
"Well, don't you look all domestic!" He states to his beloved friend. Athos ignores his comments as he focusses on the feeding infant. "What do you what?" He asks after a shot while. Still grinning like a mad man he addresses Athos "The Captain was wondering where you were as you never turned up at the garrison today." Cursing under his breath as he quickly realises the time, Athos passes the now sleeping baby in to Aramis arms. "Hold her for a minute," he says as he runs around the small room grabbing his sword and musket along with his well-worn leather jacket. Throwing it all on he quickly scribbles down a message and went over to Aramis who was busy making faces at the cooing baby.
Taking her from Aramis he holds the bundle close to his chest as he walked down the crooked stairs to the landlady below. After asking if she could look after the baby till its mother comes home a stern look is shot his way along with a reminder that she was not a babysitter and with that they set off in to the streets of Paris.
"So..." Aramis started, "what's this little one's name?" he asked with a curious expression. Athos' features suddenly softens from the hardened musketeer mask he was used to seeing to a wishful smile. "Her name is Freya," he stated softly as if the words that he just uttered where the most precious ones in the world as he looked upon his sleeping baby. Aramis watched his friends face as he talked about his daughter. "How old?" he had wondered how long Athos had managed to hide something this big from him and the others since he saw him with her on that cramped chair this morning.
"She will be four weeks tomorrow. Her mother is out at the market and will be back shortly. I left a note telling her to come to the garrison but until then she will have to stay with us."
"Well then little one we will just have to find a way to amuse you until your mother gets here, won't we." He cooed to the infant.
As soon as they entered the garrison all eyes turned to them. Ignoring everyone Athos made his way over to their usual table. The sun beating down on them from the clear blue sky above but the air held a heaviness, warning them that a storm was going to come. As he settled down on to the seat Aramis placed a chunk of bread before him. He chewed quietly at the edges as Freya played with the buckles on his jacket chewing at the soft brown leather. Aramis studied his friends interactions with his daughter, he seemed more at ease now. This definitely explained his odd behavior. His lack of being passed out every night drunk out of his head, the way he no longer complains bitterly about having to drag Porthos out of trouble when his card games got out of control. Parenthood had definitely changed the miserable, sulking, drunk musketeer into the man he saw before him.
"No, No, No!" Porthos cried out as he handed a particularly pleased looking D'Artagnan a bundle of money. Aramis looked up form where he was entertaining the giggling baby only to be met with a horrified looking Porthos and a disappointed but slightly pleased looking D'Artagnan with a substantial amount of coins in his hand. "Dear god, please don't tell me thats what I think it is. Please say that the baby is not yours. I told you that the way you were making your way through the woman in Paris that this would…." Porthos was cut off from his rant by an insulted sounding cry erupting from the man before him. "She's not mine!"
A look of confusion passed his face before he stuck his arm out in D'Artagnans direction with the palm of his hand up. with a heavy sigh D'Artagnan handed over the bag of coins. "Wait, you two bet that I would get a woman with child!" he stated in an offended tone.
Ignoring his outcry Porthos sat down stairing at the infant, "If she's not yours, then who's is she?"
"She's mine,"