Devil's Plaything

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Athos shows tremendous restraint and with the help of his brothers finds peace in idleness. This is an entry for the Fete de Mousquetaires March challenge, with the theme of "Idle Hands".

Chapter Four: Divine Life

Out among the tree line, she tip toed carefully on bare feet; dodged and weaved lithely beneath low hanging branches – then bent low to push errant leaves aside. When she stood, dark hair fell about her face, and shoulders; then cascaded down her back. Bright streaks of sunlight cut through the canopy above her and cast a sheen that had her skin glowing and her eyes shining with mischief.

He breathed in a painful breath as she reached out her arms to beckon him forward with a warm laugh, her hand fisted with purple flowers; the white of her undergarments damp with blood. Her voice was so clear, and as he stood to join her, Porthos clamped a heavy hand to his shoulder, effectively pinning him back down to earth.

The big man melodramatically groaned and sat heavily beside him on the slight hill. "It is hot – yeah?" he bemoaned. With his coat already thrown to the ground, he removed his hat and flapped it widely before his face. Sweat trickled from his forehead; made tracks to his cheeks, neck and under his collar. He pulled sweat soaked fabric away from his chest and swore vociferously.

Athos turned from his wife to study his shaking hands, and then his miserably sweaty friend. He nodded his agreement and squeezed his hands together tight. When he searched for her among the trees – Anne was gone.

He rubbed at his forehead and felt the familiar tension creep from his shoulders – to his neck then to beat at his temples. As his wife called to him from the past, the invisible spirit of wine whispered in his ear devilish works for idle hands – in the hopes to steal away his pain, and then bring him trouble.

More than anything he wished with unguarded fever to rid himself of her – the memories she hammered at him of love, death and despair. However, his debt to her was enormous and beyond repayment. She had saved d'Artagnan's life - the boy who now rushed by him, throwing kindling to the ground in a hurried frenzied state – was alive because of her.

Intertwining his fingers – knuckles white with the force – he leaned forward and inwardly groaned. He was going to be sick. d'Artagnan stood stiff, still and looked his way – eyes wide with questions he could not answer. So he lowered his head and hid behind windblown hair, veiled eyes and a neutral expression. His blank face; haughty air perfected over time; was a fallback on detachment that worked to belay any conversation… every time.

He was determined that his anguish would not add to his young friend's already growing list of worries.

"I will go and water the horses", he announced to no one in particular and made to rise – escape d'Artagnan's anxious looks, but was interrupted with a firm response.

"Sit down Athos. It's already done. Haven't you noticed – camp is ready for the evening."

Athos settled back to the ground, searched the sky and observed that the sun no longer stood high; but it was still early yet. When he surveyed the camp, he saw that the pit was complete; kindling ready to light; the horses stood tethered, saddles removed stomping their hooves – content. Bedrolls were laid out, unfurled waiting for weary bodies to rest.

How long had he been sitting here? How had time moved by so swiftly without him? His answer was a soft laugh echoed about the woods. He scanned the trees and beyond to find her.

Aramis responded to his query as if he had spoken aloud. "You've been sitting in that very spot for quite some time; hours….maybe. I think this is the first sign of life we have seen from you since you dismounted."

Athos startled a little. He hadn't realized Aramis sat so close – his legs crossed; back leaned against a tree – pieces of his firearm laid out on a blanket, clean and ready to be put back together.

"As you can see" Porthos continued – shuffling a deck of cards deftly with large nimble fingers – "There is nothing left for us to do. d'Artagnan has done it all – leaving us idle and lazy."

"I for one applaud his excessive energy", Aramis laughed, "But I believe this flurry of activity is due to worry." He cocked an eyebrow – only slightly distracted with putting the pieces of his musket back together whole.

Athos frowned, peered across the pit and watched as d'Artagnan moved toward the horses with feed; his face indeed etched with concern.

Aramis continued, "He hasn't ceased moving since we stopped here, and you haven't quit tormenting yourself. I am surprised your hands are not raw from the wringing and that he has not collapsed from exhaustion."

Athos tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Aramis sighed; snapped his weapon together in a practiced flourish and met his friend's gaze full on. "He worries for you Athos; and doesn't understand your moods and silence as we do."

Athos nodded slowly and rubbed absently at his aching knuckles while Anne strolled amongst the trees.

The three sat quietly for some moments. The only sounds about were of d'Artagnan cooing encouragement to the horses; the stream lapping softly to shore in the distance; and cards shifting seamlessly between Porthos' callused fingers. In his mind – Anne called to him, giggling through the breeze.

He ran tired fingers through his hair and let the threads of her drift away. "She hounds me", he finally admitted – rubbing his palms against the sides of his pants legs.

Porthos leaned close, and when their shoulders touched urged, "Who – your wife or the drink?"

Athos chuckled with no mirth and a hard glint to his gaze. "Both", he ground out between clenched teeth. "If I give into them – I am lost."

Aramis sighed with empathy, and squeezed his knee. "Then we won't let you give in. We'll find something to settle your mind; give you relief – and ease that one" nodding toward d'Artagnan, "into rest."

Athos pulled his knees in close, and shook his head in defeat. "I am abused brother, and my only relief is to loathe her – but for some reason I cannot. She has saved d'Artagnan. I am in her debt and oddly glad of it."

Aramis understood the sentiment. She had saved d'Artagnan's life; but now, it seemed, the very act of her mercy was to spin Athos out of control – something neither he, nor Porthos could abide.

As green eyes pierced his, the pain there stole his breath – but not his resolve. "You will see Athos. Peace is what you need today. And we shall find it." He stood then to his feet, reached for his weapon; the water skins and made for the rise. "I'll go and fill the skins", he called out over his shoulder – and disappeared from view.

When he returned to camp, eager to share his find, Aramis took note that Pothos sat grumpily wiping his brow with his head scarf; and d'Artagnan with single minded purpose carefully fashioned a tripod for the pot to boil on. Athos was right where he had left him – staring out toward the trees, clasping his hands in a death grip – determined to keep himself from flying apart through sheer force of will.

He smiled to himself and moved swiftly toward his brothers; and dropped the skins full of water to the ground. Hands on hips, he addressed the somber trio. "Over this rise, I have found just what we need."

d'Artagnan frowned, met his merriment with a stiff back and bit his lip. "Just what do we need?" he asked, falling back on his heels to witness an overly cheerful Aramis grinning from ear to ear.

"We need respite my friend – to lie idle and be still. And that place is just this way", he announced – pointing back behind him.

d'Artagnan turned away – ready to lift the small pot, from his fashioned tripod; pleased with his ingenuity. "I think I'd rather fill the pot with water and ready some coffee for the meal. While you were gone, I put together a snare and soon we may have rabbit."

Aramis looked to Porthos for support – who only shrugged then inquired, resigned to the enthusiasm. "What is it you want to show us Aramis? Whatever it is; its close by I hope."

"Very close – just over this rise. Come on, let me show you."

Porthos nodded, stood wearily to his feet and pulled a compliant Athos up with him by his lapels. The man seemed utterly confused by the sudden activity and conversation; and allowed Porthos to drag him forward by the nape of his neck.

"Alright then", d'Artagnan sighed heavily; and with a hint of petulance, lifted the pot ready to follow. "Is there water near this respite?"

"Yes!" Aramis called behind him – "Come see!"

d'Artagnan dropped the small pot in amazement. The scene before him was magnificent. The pond below – a blinding blue azure, was almost a perfect circle. The overhanging tree limbs were lush with leaves – dark green, and full of life. Wild flowers peppered the grass in hues of blue, white and yellow. Suddenly he was reminded of home – Lupiac rising up from his dreams to greet him.

How was this place so close by and he hadn't seen it? The pool was so inviting. The heat had been oppressive; his skin was hot – his clothes dusty – his mind fraught with worry. If he could just put aside all that needed to be done for just a moment…

Porthos laughed aloud and walked with measured step toward the pool of pristine water. It called to him with the promise of quenched thirst; a cool brow; and soothed feet. When he reached the edge, and dipped in his scarf, he sighed with the knowledge of coming relief.

"You have outdone yourself Aramis", he bellowed to his friend, pulled off his boots, socks then dipped his aching feet within the cool water and moaned with pleasure. Here was paradise, he thought; and pressed the wet cloth at his neck.

Aramis stood smiling cheekily as d'Artagnan raced by him at maximum speed – divesting himself bit by bit of his coat, shirt, weapons – hopping from foot to foot as he reached the water's edge of the pond to remove his boots, socks and pants – then dove head first into the waiting expanse – slight ripples following him beneath the smooth surface.

The veil of neutrality, stiff shoulders and trembling hands relaxed about Athos' countenance and he actually smiled wide – teeth showing; his whole face transformed – as d'Artagnan whooped with joy and disappeared beneath a splash of water – only to resurface moments later spewing a perfect arc of water from his mouth to the heavens above.

He laughed then, loud from his belly and descended to the grass. Lying on his back, he held tight to his sides, and watched as white billowing clouds traveled overhead to some faraway place; until he was left spent with rare elation.

d'Artagnan, happy to hear his friend delighted with life, floated to his back, and watched the clouds with him.

As they all lay still beneath the setting sun, limbs heavy with the fatigue of the day, Aramis turned to his friends and smiled fondly. The goal of the day had been met. Peace was found, and life was divine.

d'Artagnan already lay asleep on his side – the thick weave of tall grass a soft welcome mattress that lured him quickly to a dreamless state hours ago. He breathed slowly and deep, with no furrow or crease at his brow – his worries, apparently left dissolved beneath the cool waters.

Aramis chucked lightly, amazed that the boy's hands twitched in repose – unable to remain idle, even in sleep.

Athos sprawled next to him – coat, boots, hat, socks – all lined up neatly to the side. Only his weapon's belt and sword glistened close by within arm's length – never out of sight or out of reach – much like d'Artagnan – whose steady breath tickled his arm just as wind rippled over water.

Aramis could see that for the moment, his friend's demons were set aside, like his coat – and hoped he would wait for at least another day before he placed their weight back across his shoulders.

Athos sat up then – savored the grass between his toes, the wind in his hair, the receding glow of the sun and his brothers all nearby, idle here beneath the swaying trees. And though his hands earlier in the day; had trembled and itched to drown him in drink or self-destruction – now only reveled in the feel of tall carpeted grass and the warmth of brotherhood that surrounded him.

"I see you are better!" Porthos called softly to him from his spot of earth by the pond – feet splashing gently to and fro.

Athos lifted his hands – then held them out strong, steady, and true.

Thank you so much for reading. This is the last chapter for the entry to the Fete de Mousquetaires March challenge of 'Idle Hands'. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think! Reviews are always welcome and very much appreciated! I want to take a moment to thank those of you who reviewed, but I could not respond to. Your comments were lovely, thank you.

If you would like to participate in the March Challenge, please go to the Musketeers Forum page titled Fete de Mousquetaires to learn more about the rules and how to enter.