His first few months at the musketeers are a blur. Most of his nights are used to drowning his sorrow and all his days are taken up by training and going on missions, small to start with but by the end of his third month he was doing everything Porthos dose. Traville has seen fit to pair them up more often than not, his reasoning being that they cover each other's weaknesses in combat. Athos suspects, though he has never said so out loud, that his real reason is that Porthos, out of all the men, is only one who has come close to cracking his armour. The others respect him, both in his talent with a sword and his self-imposed vow of silence when it comes to most things. Porthos however was having none of it.

He never did ask what made him waste his nights with drink, seeming to understand without it being said that that was across the line. Everything else however was fair game. And the man took it upon himself to drag Athos kicking and screaming out of his shell. It took a long time but by spring he had managed to include Athos in everything he was determined to avoid, from gambling sessions to birthday celebrations. He even managed to get him to crack a smile on occasion. Athos hadn't been looking for friends when he had joined the musketeers, but it seemed Porthos was determined, and he was glad of that, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Being somewhat friends with Porthos did have its down sided however, as he soon descovered. The man had both a blind hatred of red guards, like most of the musketeers to be fair, and didn't mind starting fights. Athos however, when he was sober enough to think properly, did not start fight, in fact tried to avoid them at all cost. Which is why he had ignored the Red Guard calling him 'a good for nothing baby musketeer they won't even trust with a commission' while he was getting a drink. Porthos, who had been playing cards at the next table, did not see fit to let it go as easily.

"That's rich, coming from a member of the second rate soldier brigade." Athos could feel the other man come up behind him, the picture of intimidation, and laid a hand on his arm to calm him. He'd had worse things said to him and he didn't want this situation to escalate any further.

The Red Guard didn't seem to have got that message though.

"I hardly think were the ones that are second rate after the filth Traville's been handing commissions out to lately." Porthos bristled.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, most think he's gone mad, but we just think he's collecting a set of delinquents. Now he's got a drunk to go with his gutter rat," the man laughed, not seeming to notice that Porthos was a lot bigger than him and Athos was now having to physically hold him back. He continued on oblivious to the danger, "I don't think I would have been able to stand the shame of it, growing up in the court of miracles with harlots and beggars, but I suppose you don't really see the problem if your mother was whore."

This was the point at which Athos figured that letting go of Porthos so he could break the man's nose didn't really count as starting a fight. And, he concluded as pulled another red guard of his friends back, he may not start fights, but he'd sure as hell finish them.

They'd got into a lot of trouble for that; the Captain had not been at all impressed, chewing them out for a good hour on proper conduct. But all the other Musketeers thought it was excellent and insisted on Porthos telling the tale over and over again. The exaggerations kept getting bigger each time it was told, till he heard tell that he, Porthos and two others had single handily taken on twenty-eight Red Guards who had been slandering the King using only a candle, a fork, two bottles of wine and their fists, and one of the bottles of wine was used to toast their good work afterwards. He had a feeling Porthos was encouraging it, but there was no harm done, apart for them earning quite a reputation, so he let it go.

Life was better than it had been in a long time. He still had his bad nights, were the drink took over and he longed for it all to end, but they got fewer and fewer as he made a niche for himself among the musketeers.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

At Easter the captain offered twenty-two of them the chance to go on a training exercise to Savoy. He let the men argue out between themselves who would be going, saying that he wouldn't be responsible for choosing who would be bored out of their brains picking up all the extra shifts while the others were away. Athos had volunteered to stay behind, knowing more people wanted to go than there was space for, and he wasn't really that bothered. One of the ones who did get to go, Aramis his name was, offered to swap with him if he liked, seen as he was newer and would probably benefit more from it that him, but Athos had declined. He knew Aramis' friends where going and Porthos was not, besides he could use the practice in general duties as much as anything else.

Porthos had said he was staying the moment Athos did. Despite him not being commissioned yet and him having far less experience at being a soldier, Porthos had started to follow his lead a lot, especially while on the job. Apparently he made much more diplomatic decisions than Porthos who reportedly wanted to just 'punch all the lazy sons of gits' in most situations. It seemed to happen in the barracks as well, men listening to what he had to say when he said it, getting him to settle the odd argument because they knew he was fair and learning from him whenever he took the time to teach someone about swordsmanship. It was refreshing to be respected for himself rather than his title and he drunk it down, letting it start to fill the emptiness left in his sole.

On the Monday after twenty-two men left for Savoy the news arrived they were all dead. Over three months training with the Musketeers and Athos had never seen them quieter.

He was commissioned the same day, along with the other seven trainees, after which he and Porthos set off as part of the sombre delegation that were required to collect the bodies and look for some evidence to explain what happened. They found no evidence, just dead men and boys, disposed of in their own blood and left to rot in the sunlight. It had been almost three days by the time they arrived, and the stench was unbearable.

They had almost finished loading bodies on to the cart when he saw Josse. He had been young, twenty at most and all excitement at the prospect of the weekend away. He lay on the ground, throat slit, dead eyes still staring at the world. It was the exact possession he had found Thomas in, and suddenly it was all too much. He was almost on this exercise, if he had just taken Aramis' place there would be one more man in the world that deserved to live rather than him. He didn't, not after Thomas, not after her.

He stumbles of into the woods to collect himself and calm his breathing. After pulling himself together he was about to leave when he heard something; movement in the trees, the snap of a twig and then a groan of pain. He knew Porthos coming to collect him, that he should go, but instead he delved deeper into the woods, searching for the source of the noise. It happened again, a bit to the left and he turned to see a man in his shirt-sleeves, covered in blood propped against the tree.

He yelled for Porthos, running forward and falling down beside the man. It was Aramis, pale and injured. He had a nasty looking head wound, his side was bleeding and he was shaking from cold and shock but he was very much alive. Athos pulled of his cloak and wrapped it around the other man just as Porthos arrived.

Between the two of them they managed to get him back to the rest, held as gently as possible in Porthos' arm as Athos held pressure on his wound. He had thrashed out at them to begin with, thinking they were his attacker come again, and it had caused his wound to open up again, covering him in fresh blood. They had managed to calm his somewhat, though it was hard to tell by how much with the delirium that seemed to have set about him.

Porthos flat out refused to put the man in the back of the carts with the bodies of the other musketeers, so after they had done what they could to patch him up he was hoisted on to a horse with Athos and Porthos' taking turns to ride with him.

Even with the two of them pushing the horses faster than the others to get the man back to help it was still a long ride home. Once while with Athos he had awoken in fits, yelling and scrabbling with his hands. Athos hadn't known what to do at first, but wrapped one arm around him to keep him still so he could continue to ride. That had only made him worse, working himself into a panic and scaring the horse. In the end he'd only managed to calm him by talking softly to him in his ear like he did when his little brother used to have night terrors. He kept it up till his throat was dry, speaking of everything and nothing, just so he'd know he was not alone, and Porthos follows his example when they swapped again.

By the time they get to Paris they're both exhausted, but Aramis is now clinging to Porthos' shirt for dear life, so instead of handing him off to the surgeon they carry him up stair to sick rooms themselves and stay with him while he is treated. It takes two days till he's in a fit state to tell the captain what he remembers, a week before he can return to his own rooms and a month before he can return to duty.

Athos and Porthos stay through it all, taking turns at his bed side. They would talk or play card, anything to distract him from memories of his dead friends. When Athos took the night shift he would bring wine and they would drown their sorrows together in companionable silence. And at the end of it Athos would pretend not to see the tears in Aramis' eyes and he would in turn ignore Athos clinging to his locket like it had the power to undo the past. Porthos would, like he had done with Athos, pretend not to see any sign of weakness or emotional distress until his help was needed, then gave it without reserve, whether it be waking him from nightmares or helping him eat when his hands shook too much to hold a spoon.

Slowly the man got better and better, recovering not just from the physical injuries but also the mental scaring. And as he began to improve Aramis started developed quit a rapport with the both of them. What had been two men's mission to save the comrade they found bleeding in the woods gradually developed in to a steady, if begrudged on Athos' part, friendship, two companions becoming three without much effort.

It was defiantly begrudged on Athos' part though. It wasn't that he didn't like Aramis, he had a great respect for the man and any friend of Porthos', which he defiantly was by now, was a friend of his. It was just that Aramis liked to know things. He never asked the direct questions (Why do you drink so much? What's with the locket? Where do you come from and what happened to you) but he often picked at him for information during conversations, coming up with wild theories then trying to prove them. He didn't always mind so much, there was the week Aramis was convinced he was an escapee from a monastery because he had let slip he could read and write Latin, which had been highly amusing. He'd and Porthos even put a crucifix on the wall of his lodgings to encourage him. Other times where not so amusing however.

They were interviewing a pretty young widower about a robbery. Despite Aramis' best effort she only seemed interested in attempting to flirt with Athos which was not particularly well received, especially she had taken it upon herself to pull at the locket round his neck and tell him not to worry about who ever gave him that old thing, she wouldn't tell if he didn't. It was after a polite but hasty retreat from the house that Aramis formed a new theory about Athos. Since he had spurned the advances of a truly lovely young lady it was obvious that it was not ladies Athos had a taste for. He was pointedly ignored, as was Porthos booming laugh, but after a day of comments like 'we're all soldiers, it's not like it isn't something we've heard of before', 'He's cute, do you want us to interview him so you can flirt?' and 'If you had to pick would it be me or Porthos?' Athos had had enough. They were sitting in a tavern after calling it a night on catching the thief when he finally snapped and offered up the only piece of information he ever would on the subject.

"There was a woman. She died."

He didn't stay to see the looks of surprise and pity, instead downing his drink before heading to the bar for more. He spent the rest of the night drinking on his own till he could no longer walk strait, at which point Porthos and Aramis-surprisingly he hadn't wondered off to one of his mistresses like usual-carried him back to his bed.

In the morning Aramis chucked Athos a scarf at breakfast.

"To cover up the chain, if you don't want lonely widows tugging on it," was the only expiation offered, and Athos accepts the gift, along with the unspoken apology. After that Aramis no longer attempts to find out anything Athos doesn't want to tell. He has, and always will be, a truth-seeker, but it seems while he will continue on despite hints, requests and out right orders, lost love is something he respects. And in turn Athos starts to feel a little more attached to the man.