Watching the captain leave, Athos was not entirely sure what to make of the man's final words. It was a warning to be sure but did it pertain to Athos' own future conduct, or was it a warning that suggested he should be wary of his new partner…

Athos turned back to the man in question. His prospective partner was still sighting down the length of his musket.

The man didn't turn to look at Athos but he'd clearly taken a moment to glance at him because he said in a jovial tone, "Well you're much older than the last one."

Athos tensed. The tone was questioning, but a game like that could go both ways. "The captain seems to think you're valuable enough to warrant protection."

There was a loud crack and burst of powder as the man took his shot. Far off in the distance someone screamed as the ball found a target on the walls.

That was a long distance indeed…

Answering gunfire peppered the crown of the trench and the marksman dropped down almost casually.

"Nice shot Aramis!" another soldier yelled from farther along the ditch, "Next time get the one to the left, I'm tired of seeing his hairy face."

"Then come over here and spot him for me," the marksman called back, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made Athos instantly wary.

He turned to Athos. "So you're my protection?" the man lifted his hat from the top of the wall and brushed the dust off its brim. "Captain Jardis usually doesn't aim to get rid of anyone that quickly. Did you insult his mother?" he grinned and Athos felt his eyebrow twitch. Wherever this man was from, Athos was sure the women all knew him by name.

The soldier joined them, "I'm not sure how you can miss him Aramis. He's practically as hairy as a badger." He slipped his foot into the step carved into the earth and leveraged himself up to take a look. Shots rang out and he flinched back to Aramis' burst of laughter.

The marksman slapped the man on the back, "Maybe in a little while then, eh? Lesson number one. Keep your head down."

The man left in a flurry of uttered curses and Aramis set to reloading his gun, "It's pretty easy to stay alive from back here, just gotta survive the boredom and disease. It's out there that things get interesting. There's not much for cover and when you reach it you have to huddle in tight. The closer you get to the walls, the easier it is for them to shoot you. If you want to die quicker just forget to keep your head down."

The man's hands flew through his task and Athos was sure the man was faster at it than he would ever manage no matter how much practice he'd be getting from here out. So engrossed in watching the motions, it took a moment for Athos to realize the man's words were meant for him.

"I'll fire as fast as you can load but we'll bring three loaded muskets with us at the start. Follow right behind me and don't get lost. Once we're in position, I'll start taking out defenders and gun crews if I can spot them." The marksman finished with his own weapon and pointed to Athos's newly issued musket, "May I?"

The man seemed surprised when Athos handed it over without argument. Brown eyes sharpened into calculating clarity with a speed that was almost dizzying to watch. The moment passed and he began inspecting the gun, checking the pan and mechanism, sighting down its length, cleaning it and loading it.

Inspection and loading done, Aramis primed the pan and lit the slow match off his own. He stepped up to the wall.

The hat came off again as he very carefully slipped the barrel over the ridge, pushing the gun just over the earth and keeping his head down. Even more slowly he leaned up, lining up the shot. His shoulders settled on an exhale and then he fired and tucked flat, not even flinching as the spit of return fire threw dust and splinters into the air around him.

"You missed!" the other soldier yelled.

After a quick glance to see the result for himself he dropped back down.

His lips quirked as he handed the musket off to a sleeping man slouched in the corner. "Never mind that one. You've got a pistol. If it's clean you'll be better off with that. Later you can keep one of the spares."

Athos wasn't sure how he felt about being so disarmed but he couldn't deny that the man seemed skilled indeed and if he deemed a weapon unfit then Athos would be wise to listen.

Aramis retrieved his hat and swept his hair back with one hand as he set it on his head. He glanced sidelong at Athos, his expressive face changing from bland amusement to frowning curiosity.

"Huh," he said.

"What?" Athos asked.

"Well for one, I think you're actually listening to what I have to say. And for two, given that you've found your way to the bottom pit of hell on earth, I'd say you're taking this all rather well."

Athos frowned, "Wouldn't you say it makes sense to take the advice of someone with experience in the given circumstance?"

"So, you're older and wiser than the last one." The marksman snorted and leaned down to sit with his back to the wall. "And to answer your question, not always no. What if I didn't like you?"

"And do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Not like me." Athos chose the clear patch across from the man and sat.

"Ah. I mean hypothetically."

"That didn't answer the question."

"Well how should I know? I've only just met you. But my point is, not everyone you meet around here can be trusted. Which, well, I'm sure you'll see for yourself soon enough."

Another cryptic warning? Hadn't he had enough of those today?

Athos found himself staring at the marksman.

This man was exactly contrary to anything Athos could've expected. The man's carefree attitude was totally at odds with his environment and it was interesting that even he himself seemed to know it.

Athos ended his musings on a huff, "So don't trust anyone, not even you. Fine. Anything else?"

Aramis tipped his head, "That serious attitude you're carrying around is going to get heavy. You should learn to lighten up."

One of the sleeping men beside Aramis roused, "For pity's sake Aramis, could you play social butterfly somewhere else? You might sleep through the night but I sure don't."

"Athos, meet Gerome." Aramis hiked a thumb in the gaunt man's direction, "He's a grumpy bastard."

"Shut it," Gerome growled.

Aramis grinned, "See?"

Gerome glared at the marksman, the look made more threatening by the crooked bent of a once-broken nose, "You done?"

Athos gave his eyebrow the free reign it so desperately desired and felt it climb his forehead, "Does anyone have cause to like you Aramis?"

Both men turned to stare at him.

"What?" Athos motioned between them, "You don't think that was a fair question?"

Their silence broke as one, both men suddenly laughing; Aramis' laughter light and soft, Gerome's a low chuckle.

"You know, I think I like this one," Aramis said to his companion, his eyes twinkling.

"He's funnier than the last one, I'll give you that." Gerome leaned across the trench and extended a hand. "Welcome to hell, my friend. It'll be a pleasure to share it with you."

Athos took the offered hand, starting to think that he really had fallen off the world somehow.

The sound of a pot clanging seemed to rouse the rest of the soldiers around them and suddenly men who seemed fast asleep only a moment before were awake and rummaging through their gear. Athos watched the bustle with a mild sense of confusion before he realized the gear the men were reaching for consisted of bowls and spoons. Mealtime.

He glanced into the sky; finding the sun amidst the gathering clouds and guessing it was nearing midday, maybe just before.

"Here," Aramis was holding out a battered pewter bowl. "Don't use the communal cup."

"I take it they don't issue these standard," Athos said dryly, taking the offered dish.

"They used to," Aramis held up his own shallow bowl. It was only in marginally better shape than the one Athos was holding.

Gerome nodded, "Now if you want one, you can get em off the poor souls out there they haven't gotten round to burying yet."

"Boredom and disease you say."

"I find praying helps," Aramis said.

Athos sent him a withering look.

The man answered with the quicksilver flash of a smile.

Athos watched three men slowly approach through the trench toward them. A sergeant escorted the two men through the process of delivering food to the front line troops; one man to carry the massive cast iron pot and the second man to wield the ladle. The man doing the ladling was easily taller than Athos by at least a head and a half. The giant of a man had grim features with a scar that ran the length of his cheek and a dark cast to his eyes. Liquid slop was ladled into waiting bowls and cups with blunt and uncaring efficiency. When the man stood in front of Athos with the ladle raised to his bowl, he paused.

"You're new aren't you," the man said. The man's words seemed to catch the attention of the attending sergeant.

Athos stared up at the big man, feeling a heightened tension that raised the hair on the back of his neck. The sergeant looked on with interest, but it wasn't an interest born of curiosity. If anything it seemed more … eager somehow.

"Is that a concern of yours?" Athos asked, meeting challenge for challenge.

The man chuckled low in his throat. "Just looking to give a fellow an honest welcome is all."

Aramis cleared his throat loudly from behind the three men.

The sergeant glanced in his direction, his focus on Athos broken for a moment. He seemed to catch himself then as he caught sight of Aramis and he tapped the scarred soldier on the arm, "Come on. Just serve the man, Gilles."

Gilles finished ladling a portion of whitish slop into Athos' bowl. He straightened to his full height and returned to his task. For a moment he seemed to lock eyes with Aramis who was seated with his elbows propped on his knees and his bowl held perfectly still in one hand, spoon hovering over his food.

Gerome was equally engrossed in the exchange, never taking his eyes off the two men sizing each other up as he steadily shoveled food into his mouth.

Finally the group moved away and Athos felt the tension ease.

When they were finally out of earshot, Gerome stood and crossed the trench to sit next to Athos.

"That's Sergeant Bernet," he said in a low voice, "You're gonna need to watch him. He's a mean one that one." He raised the lip of his bowl to his mouth and took a long slurp, his eyes darting to the man in question.

"And the other one?" Athos asked. Was it strange the man he chose to introduce was the less-imposing sergeant?

"Gilles." Gerome wiped his mouth, "He likes doing people's dirty work. Ah but don't worry. You stick with us and you'll be fine. They'll leave you alone."

And why was that Athos wondered.

Athos glanced at Aramis but the marksman was absently stirring his food, his gaze firmly on the boards sunken into the trench floor.

Gerome frowned into the dregs of milky liquid at the bottom of his bowl. "Breakfast for lunch, lunch for dinner," he grumbled, "You'd think you'd get dinner sometime else, but no, of course not. You get dinner in your dreams instead."

"Well it's warm. That counts for something," Aramis muttered, taking a slow sip, "And I think the sludge in this was actually bread at some point. Hard to really tell now though."

Gerome shrugged, "Is it food? Then I'm not complaining."

"Ha, cheers to that." Aramis glanced at Athos, the mischievous twinkle making a reappearance as if his moment of melancholy was a gust of wind on a sunny day, "Don't worry Athos, you'll learn to like it, just like the rest of us."

Athos sloshed the contents of the bowl dubiously and turned to Gerome, "So you liked it?"

"Nope," the man shook his head and frowned, "Tasted like butt."

"Goats milk is a delicacy in Paris," Aramis said with a sage nod.

Gerome scoffed, "When you think we're in Paris let me know. I'll pinch you to remind you that you're dreaming."