A/N: Thanks to Guest06 and Debbie for your reviews, your opinion means a lot. And once more thanks to those who follow and favorited this story, I'm glad you like it.
Sorry for the delay but I got distracted by 'The Musketeers' today... ;)
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*Four*
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The silence was deafening, and it lasted.
Louis, who had closed his eyes soon after he had started to speak, shuddered, as if to shake off the memory he had just recalled. Now that he had told the story, he realised why he had been so angry. He had been frightened, terrified by the events of the last few days. And he wanted nobody to see that. And yet… somehow he had liked those close moments during their captivity, when he and d'Artagnan had been almost equal. He often wished he had someone near his own age to speak freely with, as a man, a friend, not a ruler. But that had only been an illusion; he knew that the musketeer would never see him as a friend, despite the moments they had shared.
"Knew he would become the heroic one," Porthos' fond murmuring broke the silence.
His words were followed by a snort from Athos and a chuckle from Aramis. But even the king noticed the pride that lay within their utterances.
"I went down together with d'Artagnan and was barely able to prevent him from toppling over," Louis continued his tale after a moment. "He was panting heavily and barely accomplished to stay conscious. Suddenly, someone appeared at our side, one of our fellow captives. He brought a cup of water that d'Artagnan emptied gratefully. And he had a wet piece of cloth, with which he carefully dabbed at his back. But that only caused d'Artagnan more pain. I couldn't stand seeing him grimacing and tensing under the ministrations, so I stopped the man. I didn't dare look at his back, so we simply knelt in the dirt for a while, him still gripping my arms," the king stopped and pushed his sleeves up, looking thoughtfully at the marks of fingers at his arms. "I supported him whilst he fought to regain his composure, talked to him to keep him conscious, for I feared if he passed out, they would kill him. Some minutes later d'Artagnan took one last deep breath, opened his eyes and asked for his clothes. I helped him dress, rather surprised that he simply put his shirt and doublet back on as if nothing had happened. And then the camp was attacked and due to the following shouting and fighting and running, I forgot what had happened, because d'Artagnan just acted as expected from a musketeer and got me out of it."
Once more, silence settled over the room. Louis looked up and locked eyes with one of the musketeers, the one always dressed in black, with the scar on his lip. Athos, that's his name, he suddenly remembered. Athos, Aramis and Porthos, the three Inseparables. No, now they're four… He couldn't really define the other man's look, but somehow he felt guilty.
"I should have remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "How could I forget?"
*14AAA41*
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"Well…" Athos hesitatingly began, before taking another breath and smirking briefly. "D'Artagnan is quite talented when it comes to hiding injuries; we've experienced it more often than we would have liked. And considering all that has happened, it's no wonder that you didn't remember, your majesty. After all, you barely made it to your son's baptism."
"But we should have noticed, Athos," Aramis chipped in.
"How?" the swordsman asked, momentarily forgetting about the king's presence. "He fought with us against the mercenaries, he even killed Lemaitre with the man's own sword and he never flagged. So how should we have noticed?"
The medic shrugged. "I admit his behaviour was really distracting. He showed no sign of weakness; I noticed that something was wrong only when he staggered during the audience."
"Wait," the king's voice cut in, sounding demanding. "He killed that other Lemaitre? So why did he refuse to kill the brother?"
"Forgive me, your majesty, but killing the man you asked him to, would have been murder. Killing the other was self-defence, it happened during a fight," Athos explained.
"It would have been an execution, because I sentenced him to death," Louis protested.
"But you granted him clemency shortly before," Aramis dared object. "And our Gascon simply isn't capable of killing someone in cold blood. He would do everything to defend those he loves and those he's sworn to protect, even if that meant sacrificing himself, but he couldn't kill a defenceless man."
Athos made a hissing noise, fearing that their sovereign's wrath would once more come upon them. But Louis surprised him.
"I think I understand," the king finally said. "It seems that I've wronged d'Artagnan and that I have to apologize."
Athos couldn't help but look at their ruler with astonishment and some sort of sincere respect. Exchanging a quick look with his brothers, he noticed the same surprised expression. For whatever reason, Louis allowed them to see a completely other side of his being, the normal, the ordinary one. He didn't know what consequences this might have- if the king even remembered it the next day or if he maybe regretted the familiarity of this day. But for now he appreciated it, just as his brothers obviously did, and it even compensated for the unfair scolding they had received some hours ago.
*14AAA41*
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"There's no need for apologies, your majesty," a hoarse voice from the bed startled everyone. "I merely did my duty."
"D'Artagnan," Aramis exclaimed, rushing over to the bed, where the Gascon was attempting to sit up. "You shouldn't move, lad," he said, trying to stop him.
But the boy shook his head and continued shifting till he managed to push his legs out of the bed. The gravity helped him to rise, but the movement caused a white flash of pain in his back. Closing his eyes, he groaned and tried to steady himself with his hands on the mattress beside him. But that only worsened the searing pain and elicited dark spots, dancing in his vision. He held his breath, desperately fighting to regain his composure and prevent himself from passing out.
"D'Artagnan, breathe!" This was Athos' voice and those were Athos' hands gripping his shoulder and his arm, preventing him from tilting sideways.
On his other side he felt Aramis' presence, supporting him. "Breathe, d'Artagnan, or you'll pass out from lack of air," the medic admonished him.
Releasing a shaky breath, he did his best to follow the advice and inhaled slowly. For a few more minutes, his breathing was unsteady, more like panting, but eventually he managed to return to a somewhat normal breathing pattern.
"Stupid pup."
The Gascon couldn't help but grin beneath his pained grimaces, when he heard Porthos grousing. Opening his eyes, he saw his brothers surrounding him and smiled, though it came across more like a grimace than a smile.
"You really shouldn't move around," Aramis scolded mildly. Then he sighed. "But you never listen to any medical advices, do you?"
The young musketeer shrugged and winced, when that made the pain flare again.
"Damn," he silently cursed.
*14AAA41*
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Whilst everyone was concentrating on the injured man, the king could only stand, watch, and wonder. Either this Gascon was the most stubborn and reckless man he had ever met, or the bravest one. That caused him to feel even more guilty for treating him so badly. Yes, d'Artagnan had seen him weak and scared, but he surely wouldn't speak of it.
His breath hitched when he established eye contact with his newest musketeer. Although the young man must have been disappointed from their meeting some hours before, there was nevertheless a deep, sincere loyalty in his eyes. He had chosen to protect him, his sovereign, regardless of the consequences. No matter that he could've died while preventing him from being murdered, or that he was treated unfairly, blamed for decisions he didn't make.
Flicking short glances to the young man's companions, Louis recognised the same determination in their eyes, although the older men's expressions were much more restrained. They had experienced more danger, treason and injustice than the youngest had, and still…
Exhaling audibly, Louis took a step closer to the bed, to come within reaching distance.
*14AAA41*
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"Help me up," d'Artagnan called for his brothers.
"You really should lay back down," Aramis told him instead, while Porthos simply shook his head.
"You're too damn stubborn for your own good, whelp," the burly musketeer said.
Only Athos seemed to understand and simply tightened his grip. Raising his eyebrows, he made Aramis do the same, while Porthos took the boy's hands, and together they helped their little brother rise from the bed.
Hissing through his teeth, d'Artagnan swayed dangerously, but he didn't collapse. Instead, he breathed deeply and, after regaining his equilibrium, gestured to his friends to let go of him.
"Thank you, "he murmured in a half-loud voice, before he concentrated on the king, standing right before him.
He saw the marks of his fingers on his monarch's forearms and smiled. "My apologies, your majesty. I told you, you might regret your assistance."
Seeing the confused expression of his ruler, the Gascon nodded towards Louis' arms.
Louis followed his look and understood. "Oh…that…" He looked back up and returned the smile. "That's nothing. On the contrary, it's my honour to wear the signs of your bravery on my skin."
Stunned silence settled over the room.
"Besides," the king continued, "they will fade. But yours will not. And I'm sorry for it."
D'Artagnan shook his head, carefully. "As I told you before, there's no need for apologies, your majesty. I did what I had to do to protect you. Just as I would do again."
"Well… that might be true. However, you were punished because I didn't listen, because I aggravated that thug. And so it is my fault that you're injured now."
The Gascon started to protest, but a sudden wave of dizziness made him stumble and only the quick help of his brothers prevented his fall. He couldn't stifle the pained groan that escaped him and found himself forced to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain.
"For God's sake, man," Louis exclaimed. "Lay down again before you worsen your injuries. That's an order," he added, foreseeing the objection.
"You heard his majesty, d'Artagnan," Athos took the opportunity and guided the young man back down onto the bed. "Sit down."
*14AAA41*
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When the newest musketeer was seated on the bed again, the king simply grabbed a nearby chair and sat down himself. Then he mustered the injured man in front of him, took in the beads of sweat on his forehead and the lines of pain in his face.
"I think I understand now, why you rejected my reward," he started, the ironic enhancement of the last word clearly audible. "No, you don't need to explain yourself," he waved the young man's protest away. "Your friends already made it clear why you couldn't do it. Though, your strong sense of justice and human dignity sometimes does you no favour, does it?" Not really waiting for an answer, he simply proceeded. "I treated you unfairly, you and your friends. It was my idea to go to that tavern. I decided to make myself a commoner and I wasn't happy with the things I experienced, feigning to be one. To be honest, I was scared," he admitted.
His honesty stunned the musketeers once more and they looked at each other, unsure of what to say.
"As was I," d'Artagnan eventually confessed as well. "There's no reason to be ashamed of it. We were captured by slave traders, in no position to fight them or to escape. And although it was unwise to tell them who you are, it was brave. They could have simply killed us there and then."
"Unwise?" Louis repeated, an amused grin forming on his face.
The young man opposite him merely raised his brows and cocked his head. Once more, the king remembered the time he and d'Artagnan had wandered through the woods during their failed escape attempt, and had shared their childhood memories. The thought, he had had before, floated back into his mind and he privately asked himself what it would be like, to have someone like d'Artagnan as his friend. Right in this moment, he felt absolutely sure that he could trust d'Artagnan with anything, that the young man, who was just a few years younger than him, would never disappoint him. If they could be friends….
But that was impossible and he knew it. And he regretted it, deeply, feeling a sting of envy that the other men in this room, d'Artagnan's brothers in arms, had what he, the king of France, couldn't have. He had to be content with having their loyalty. He couldn't even demand their respect, that he knew now. But he could earn it, maybe had just started to do it with his honesty today.
"However," the king started the conversation again, "I've wronged you and I want to make amends. So tell me, d'Artagnan, is there anything you need?"
The Gascon couldn't help himself, but grin, seeing his brothers' bewildered expressions. Maybe he was a bit more used to their sovereign's strange behaviour- after all, they had spent two days and nights together. That certainly didn't imply that he knew the king, nor could foretell his actions or decisions. However, for now he had a question that needed answering.
"I do not want any kind of reward, your majesty, nor do you need to make amends," he started. Noticing that the king as well as his brothers were ready to argue against his words, he quickly continued. "But if I might ask a favour?"
"Of course," Louis hastened to say.
"Do you remember Pepín?" d'Artagnan asked.
The king furrowed his brows, obviously trying to remember the name. He must know him, otherwise d'Artagnan wouldn't have asked him. After a moment it came back to him.
"The dark-skinned man that you and I carried? The one who brought you the water?"
"The one who died, giving us cover," the Gascon supplied, sadness in his eyes.
Louis had the decency to look embarrassed. "I forgot him, too," he murmured.
"He had a family," d'Artagnan informed him. "He told me during the first night. His daughter is just seven years old. And she and her mother have no one to look after them now."
"So?" the king inquired.
"So… maybe you can let them have whatever you see fit to reward me with."
*14AAA41*
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When the king had finally left, after promising that he would see to d'Artagnan's wish, the three older musketeers helped their youngest to lie down again. The Gascon even accepted the pain reliever voluntarily, which spoke volumes to his brothers. Aramis reached for the tin with the balm, but Athos beat him to it. Sitting down near his injured little brother, he slathered his wounds so gently, that d'Artagnan looked up at him in mild confusion. Seeing the all present guilt in his oldest brother's eyes, the boy pushed away the haze brought about by the laudanum and gripped Athos' hand.
"You do know it wasn't your fault, don't you? You couldn't possibly foresee what would happen, that we would be captured."
"But I should have talked him out of it," the former 'comte' retorted, still concentrating at his task with his free hand.
"We're speaking of the king, Athos. Nobody would have been able to talk him out of it and you know that," d'Artagnan protested tiredly. "So please, stop bearing all of the guilt of the world on your shoulders."
Aramis and Porthos stopped with their preparations for the night and turned to the bed, right in time to watch Athos tense and hold his breath. They started to walk over to the bed, but when Athos slowly exhaled they halted their steps.
"I…" the swordsman started to speak, but was searching for words.
D'Artagnan squeezed his hand. "I know, it's difficult for you. But please, just try once," he mumbled.
"But you've been hurt be…"
"No, don't dare say 'because of me'," the Gascon jumped down his throat, struggling to push himself up again and hissing through his teeth, because the laudanum hadn't taken much effect on the pain yet.
After a second of stunned surprise, Athos stopped his efforts and gently pushed d'Artagnan back onto the mattress. "You really should listen just once to Aramis' advice, d'Artagnan. Stay in bed so that you can heal."
The injured man snorted. "Pot, meet kettle," he said, a pained smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Athos just gave him 'the stare', although he lifted a corner of his mouth as well.
"What about a compromise?" his youngest brother asked, sounding tired and exhausted.
The swordsman merely lifted one of his brows.
"I stay in bed, although I really hate it, as you all know too well, and you…." d'Artagnan made a short break, trying to make eye contact with the former 'comte'.
"And me?"
"You stop blaming yourself for our captivity and my injuries."
Aramis and Porthos, who had finished making themselves comfortable for the night, looked up and chuckled fondly. "You should listen to the pup, Athos," the medic told him.
"I'd say his proposal sounds good," Porthos agreed. "You know, he'll keep his promise, which would make our job much easier."
Athos merely sighed, then he nodded. "So be it. But you'll stay in bed as long as Aramis tells you to do so," he emphasized.
The Gascon just huffed, but gripped his mentor's hand again. "Deal," he said with a small, tired, but proud grin.
"Deal."