A Moment

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: A collection of brief moments between our musketeers (especially d'Artagnan and Athos), that would otherwise go unnoticed; swallowed up in the hectic parts of a day to perhaps end up in the recesses of memory – tucked away. Chapter Six: 'The Bridge' carried over just a wee bit longer – to know what happens next.

AZGirls' review got me to thinking about what happens next– so 'The Bridge' has been extended somewhat, to carry the moment over to 'The Other Side'. I hope you like it.

Chapter Six: The Other Side

Aramis pulled the horses by their reins and led them reluctantly away from the stream and up the rocky embankment toward camp. The four mounts protested the abrupt departure, but were well behaved livestock and like most musketeers of their breed, followed orders and were led up the hill without much prompting.

Aramis was glad of their obedience, and spoke sweet words of praise for their ears only – sprinkled in with promises of ripe, juicy apples and smiled as they pranced in his wake.

He then walked by their three captured bandits, tied up beneath the trees – bowed his head in their direction and smirked an insincere smile at their ominous glares – marred somewhat by the filthy gags pulling at their mouths. "Gentlemen", he offered and tipped his hat with exaggerated panache. He could just make out the garbled obscenities thrown his way and laughed.

As he tethered the horses amongst a clustering of trees, he could see d'Artagnan, urged on by Porthos – make his way tentatively toward the camp and their disgruntled friend. Aramis sighed with relief – grateful for Porthos' powerful gift of persuasion. For even though d'Artagnan's jaw was tight with determination – his eyes brimmed with adoration and a touch of hero worship.

When he looked to Athos – he saw the man stand and move to greet him, and was pleased. Reconciliation was definitely warranted here.

He thought back on the earlier heated exchange between his brothers and shook his head. Never before had he witnessed such a reaction from Athos, and it had unsettled him. He knew Porthos felt the same, as even their combined strength had not been enough to remove his grip from d'Artagnan's collar, and unpin him from the tree at his back.

The whole scene had been surreal. Only d'Artagnan's equal parts anger, and need to get away had loosed Athos' hold – and left him just as stunned as they were - staring down at his hands in disbelief.

Aramis moved closer to the camp and sat upon a downed tree; removed his hat and pulled his hand roughly through his unruly curls. As he watched Athos now, he considered him anew and observed him through a different lens.

He and Porthos had known Athos now for a little over five years; and knew for sure that he kept much of his past close to his vest and did not share much about his life before becoming a musketeer. It was his right, and it was not their way to pry and open wounds so carefully wrapped.

However, over time he had allowed them both in little by little – until now he could say with great certainty that he loved them both as brothers and would give or do anything in his power for them.

But this depth of emotion seen earlier today was beyond anything he had observed from Athos - ever. Clearly d'Artagnan had penetrated through whatever was holding back the turmoil and melancholia so evident in Athos' nature.

What was next, he wondered, as d'Artagnan walked slowly into the circle of the camp? He could see that Athos still seethed beneath his calm facade – but he could also see warmth and love in his usually veiled countenance.

When they met each other, near the heat of the flames, Aramis could sense between them a truce of sorts. d'Artagnan bowed his head, shuffled his feet uneasily and shrugged his shoulders – ready for his reprimand.

Aramis sought out Porthos' gaze in the background, and could feel him tense up along with him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes fixed carefully on the interaction between the two.

They nodded to each other and hoped for a sensible outcome; and it seemed things were starting off well – so they waited.

Then Athos reached out to touch d'Artagnan's shoulder and before he could speak, his hand hesitated and hovered over the red, angry mark at the boy's neck.

Aramis could see the spark of agitation reignited from where he sat and sighed deeply. The conciliatory moment was gone, and Athos grabbed the back of d'Artagnan's coat and guided him with some force to the downed tree where he sat.

Without a word, he pushed d'Artagnan down beside him, tilted his chin upward and exposed the puffy, blood stained scar for him to see.

"I'm fine", d'Artagnan protested and shoved Athos' hand away – irritation crowding around the edges of his speech.

Aramis could feel another blow up brewing and stood quickly to his feet. He met Athos' glare full on and could sense the uncertainty there, warring with anger and frustration.

"I'll see to it", he offered and squeezed his friend's arm with assurance; and knew in that moment that Athos had no control over his emotions where d'Artagnan was concerned.

Athos removed his hat and looked absently toward the tree line – his thoughts scattered between here and the past. He then turned to Aramis, as if to speak, but no words came – his throat constricting on its own accord. Instead he gestured his hat in a vague direction away from the camp.

Aramis squeezed his arm again, and watched him walk away – as the day faded fast and the flames now their only true source of light.

Porthos had seen as well their friend's distress, and now stood next to him just as perplexed as he was. "I'll see to the meal", he said tiredly and moved away to ready something for them to eat.

When Aramis turned to his young friend, he noticed d'Artagnan watching Athos disappear among the trees. "Where is he going?" he asked – worry tinged in his query.

"To check the perimeter I think" he answered, as he reached down at his feet to pull his kit from his saddlebag.

"How do you know that?" d'Artagnan insisted. "I didn't hear him say that."

Aramis stood then to take in d'Artagnan's confusion. "No? I thought that's what I heard him say."

d'Artagnan frowned with annoyance. "The three of you do that all the time you know."

Aramis lifted his eyebrows in question, as he opened his kit and took out a flask of wine, cloth; needle and thread – laying them out neatly on the bark of the trunk.

"Talk to each other without speaking", d'Artagnan explained. "Half the time, I don't know what the three of you are talking about, because you're not saying anything."

Aramis tilted d'Artagnan's chin up; leaned his neck toward the bright flames and examined the furrow with experienced fingers, then caught his gaze which was filled with conflicting emotions.

"You understand our language well enough I think" Aramis chuckled with some humor. "But soon – I'm guessing – you will comprehend all of its nuisances – I am most certain of it."

He smiled then, poured wine on the pristine white cloth and held it up for d'Artagnan to see. "I will clean the wound now", and pressed the cloth to his neck. d'Artagnan hissed and attempted to pull away as the cool cloth hit his wound and stung like fire.

Aramis held the cloth fast and would not be moved. After a time, he lifted the cloth and cleaned away the excess blood and dirt.

"Stitches it is", he announced, as d'Artagnan pressed his lips tight, and narrowed his eyes in indignation. "There's no arguing against it", he laughed and handed him the small flask of wine. "Take a few swigs and brace yourself – this won't take long."

When Athos made his way back toward camp – full night had fallen and the only light emitted came from the flames of their camp fire – as there was only a slither of the moon to help illuminate the darkness. In the distance, he could hear owls greeting each other and night creatures scurrying to survive each other's predatory advances.

He stood just outside the circle of reds and yellows and could make out the sounds of horses shifting; the slight flow of water in the nearby stream; and the heavy breathing of their captives – indicating sleep.

There was nothing outside of this circle that posed a threat. He had walked the perimeter for hours and was sure of their safety.

But now as he stood outside looking in, he wasn't so sure he was safe. It had taken him years to find his balance – to regain his footing and have a purpose to his life that was steady and predictable. The life of a musketeer – duty to King and country; and the love of his brothers had seen to that.

But now that balance was precarious and he found himself standing on rocky ground; in unfamiliar territory.

He had not understood the depth of his feeling for d'Artagnan until that moment the boy had dove for him, saved his life and in turn almost lost his own. The sudden, quick evocation of Thomas lying dead at his feet had driven him over the edge. In that moment, he had lost all reason.

He looked up to the dark heavens and took in a deep breath. He needed to find a way back – back to his reliable coping mechanisms – back to some sense of equilibrium; but feared that time had passed, and would no longer be effective.

This boy had filled a hallow void with vibrant life, and there was no turning back he supposed. The flood gates were now open, and no wall would stem the tide. What he needed now was an anchor, so that he would not drift away or drown.

Whereas before he would numb his pain with drink and self-destructive behavior – now he needed something more solid. For now, he could feel it all. The past was back to haunt him, and d'Artagnan's selflessness had brought it to a head.

Athos stepped within the circle and found Aramis awake, staring into the flames – Porthos asleep beyond the downed tree; and d'Artagnan lying on his side by the fire – his blanket at his waist; hair hiding his features – breathing steady and even.

Aramis called to him then, and broke his train of thought. "Come sit Athos, all is well here."

And then suddenly the ground felt solid beneath his feet, and he moved to sit next to his friend.

As the kindling shifted in the heat and sent sparks of red embers floating upward, d'Artagnan turned to his back and moaned. His brow briefly creased in concentration, and then smoothed over in serene rest. Athos wondered what he must be thinking in his sleep.

He stood then from his seat by Aramis' side and bent to one knee; lifted the blanket to cover him to his chest, and lightly touched the wound at his neck. He considered d'Artagnan closely, and his heart clenched. He was so young – hot tempered and devoted beyond reason. What was he to do?

Aramis spoke up, "It's just a scratch really. He only needed a few stitches. It won't even leave a noticeable scar."

Athos stood and resumed his seat next to his friend. "There should be no scar at all", he countered, looking off into space – his voice hoarse and clipped – memories assailing him from all directions.

"Better you – a bullet to the chest or worse?" Aramis asked with some heat, but expected no response.

They sat then quietly in each other's company for some time until Aramis broke through the spell of hushed calmness – his mind made up to speak plainly.

"You have kept much about yourself from us Athos – as is your right. Lord knows Porthos and I bear our own burdens and choose not to share. But I sense d'Artagnan is much like you, and things you hold close will not stay hidden for much longer. He worships the ground you walk on, if you haven't noticed."

Aramis sensed Athos tense beside him, but barreled ahead – saying what needed to be said, "He reminds you of someone; and I can see it brings you joy and grief."

Athos rubbed at the back of his neck, nodded; and thought how well Aramis knew him – could read him, and keep him grounded. "Yes", he acknowledged, "you are correct – joy and grief are the sentiments."

Aramis looked to his brother and heard the high regard there in his voice; then waited a beat for more of a revelation, but none was forthcoming. The fire hissed and spit before them, and Aramis could feel the tension slowly release from his brother's body.

He nudged Athos with his shoulder and leaned into him for emphasis, "When you are ready to share Athos, we are here to listen, but in the meantime, you must speak to him. He has given his brotherhood to us all, but I believe he has given his love and loyalty to you."

Athos nodded then in understanding and gazed back at Aramis, his eyes weary and worried with fear. He stood once again to his feet and pushed his hair from his face. "You are right Aramis. I see much of myself in him, and must try and temper it before that trait gets him killed."

Aramis smiled up at his friend and shook his head with compassion. "Porthos and I have tried that tactic on someone we hold in high esteem, but have failed miserably. He is who he is Athos. There is no tempering his courage and loyalty."

Athos' gaze then drifted once more to the tree line beyond the warm circle, and he gestured with his hat that he would again walk the perimeter.

Aramis sighed, exasperation heavy and thick around him. "Go then Athos, but please, think on what I've said."

Athos nodded and walked away from the light, into the darkness out among the trees. Beyond the downed tree, Porthos sat up and peered at his friend. "Do you think he heard you?" he asked – a touch of anxiousness in his voice.

Aramis shrugged, kicked dirt toward the fire, then watched as the kindling fell inward and imploded with a crash.

In his sleep, d'Artagnan turned himself from his back and to his side – away from the fire – unaware of the shift he had caused in Athos' life.

As they rode away from camp – prisoners towed along in their wake by foot – d'Artagnan sat atop his mount solemnly at the back of their small caravan – his thoughts wandering, to think on how Athos had not said a meaningful word to him all morning.

He could see the man was no longer angry – but wanted to hear his thoughts and as Porthos had advised, wished to accept the consequences of his actions. Yesterday had been stressful, and he did not like the strain between them.

But Athos had greeted him with a neutral good morning – instructed him on breaking camp; and preparing the prisoners for travel. Otherwise, there had been no real conversation.

Now, they were almost to Paris, and his nerves were on edge – wondering what to expect when they returned home.

When he roused from his musings, he was caught off guard to find Athos at his side; facing forward atop his own mount – watching the way ahead with forced intensity. d'Artagnan swallowed hard, and sat straighter in his saddle.

This was it, he thought – here comes the conversation that would breach the gulf between them. He studied Athos' profile; attempted to gauge his mood; steady his rapid heartbeat, and regulate his breathing. A nervous energy settled in his stomach and fluttered like butterflies.

After a few moments of silence, Athos spoke with a decisive mettle to his voice. "I wish you to follow my lead d'Artagnan; and think before you act. Following orders is what may keep you alive to fight another day; and protect the men around you."

d'Artagnan nodded slowly and then looked toward Porthos, for clarification – who then winked back at him for encouragement.

"Do you think you could do that?" Athos pressed, obviously expecting some response.

d'Artagnan bobbed his head up and down with enthusiasm and piped up, "Yes, I can do that. But I won't forfeit your life Athos – never."

Athos took a breath to steady his racing heart, the vein at his temple throbbing – threatening to derail his overture.

"When we get back to the garrison" , Athos continued, "I will consult with the Captain, but I believe no missions; guard duty; mucking out the stalls and giving Serge a hand at whatever he wants or needs doing for a month should suffice as a reasonable reprimand." He stole a glance Aramis' way – whose eyebrows climbed up into his hairline.

And so added - "What say you to this?"

"I accept the consequences", d'Artagnan said with genuine conviction and relief as Porthos reined his horse in to join him at his side, reached over and cuffed the back of his head with affection.

Athos gave a terse nod, and moved once more to the head of their procession, and acknowledged with gratitude Aramis' fond pat on the back as they cantered at a steady pace, side by side toward home.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this extended moment. Please review and let me know what you think! Also thanks again to all of you have read, reviewed, favorited and followed this story – and a special thank you to AZGirls for your suggestion. The response to these moments has overwhelmed me, and I am still smiling.