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Onward!
"You know, Porthos, waking Aramis at the monastery was just as much your doing as it was mine," d'Artagnan pointed out once they had mounted their horses for another long day in the saddle.
"You're the one who demanded satisfaction," Porthos called over his shoulder from where he was riding beside Aramis.
"You insulted me!" d'Artagnan shrieked.
"Touchy," Aramis said just loud enough for Porthos alone to hear.
"You're the one who had to ask a question."
"You're the one who couldn't wait for us all to go to the monastery together!"
Porthos turned in his saddle to look at d'Artagnan, his expression screaming that he could not believe the stupidity issuing forth from the young man's mouth.
"You expected me to wait patiently while you went shopping?" Porthos turned to Aramis then and shook his head.
"Gentlemen," Athos began as though calling them gentlemen would, by some miracle, remind them all that they were grown men bickering like children. "If you're quite finished pointing fingers," he sighed and looked to the sky in exasperation before riding away to scout ahead.
Silence settled over them as they rode on, moving closer to Paris and war with every step.
"Aramis!" d'Artagnan exclaimed with sudden and almost overwhelming chipperness.
"Yes, d'Artagnan," Aramis acknowledged, and Porthos stifled a chuckle knowing that his best friend had somehow captured the Gascon's attention and would likely be pestered for the foreseeable future.
"You have yet to finish your story."
"Ah, yes."
"You could always make up a new story. Think of the fun we could have, and he'd never know," Porthos whispered conspiratorially.
"I doubt Athos would let us have such fun. You know he'd find out about it somehow," Aramis muttered before responding to d'Artagnan. "But you see, you have yet to tell me why I'm telling you about this little misadventure."
"What? Aren't you telling it because I asked you how you came to know English?"
"Yes, but we were only speaking in English because you appeared to be in a less than pleasant mood and we were trying to come up with a way of rectifying that."
D'Artagnan was briefly stunned by that revelation and struggled to explain what had been bothering him lately. Seeing that whatever d'Artagnan was about to reveal was something the boy took seriously, Porthos and Aramis slowed their horses just enough for d'Artagnan to come even with them.
"Well, it's just that…we're going to war…"
"Nothing gets past you, whelp," Porthos grinned.
"We're going to war, and I hardly know anything about the three of you. I mean, Porthos, you were a pirate. A pirate! I never knew until last night, and even then I only found out because I wanted to know about why you know English. You three are my brothers, and yet we're strangers. If one of you should fall in battle, I want to be able to tell my children about your great deeds and keep the memory of you alive, but how can I sustain a memory I know nothing about." D'Artagnan sighed heavily. "Does…does that make any sense?" When he looked to Porthos and Aramis for a response, he was met with expressions that had greatly sobered since he began elaborating.
"Yeah." Porthos' voice was so soft it was nearly lost amidst the noise of their horses.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Aramis' face conveyed something between sorrow and regret.
"Before you left, there was no war, and you didn't give us much warning," d'Artagnan mused. "And then when we got to the monastery, I didn't want to be overwhelming." Porthos huffed in amusement. "Well, more overwhelming than normal," d'Artagnan amended in the same moment Athos returned from scouting ahead.
"What's more overwhelming than normal?" One of Athos' eyebrows rose as he scanned the faces of his brothers in search of an answer.
"I am. I was just telling Porthos and Aramis that I wish I knew the three of you better if we're to go off and risk our lives in this war."
"You do realize that we risk our lives every day…" Athos stated, not entirely sure why it had taken d'Artagnan so long to be troubled by such a thing.
"Yes, but until Aramis left, I was learning about all of you, even if it was taking forever."
"Is there something in particular you wish to know?" Athos asked with great caution. He had the most wretched feeling that this was not going to be pleasant for one or all of them.
"Well, Athos, do you remember in December when you had me take that letter of condolences to Tauzin's next of kin?" Athos gave a nod. "It made me think about my family which made me think of your families."
Athos fought the urge to groan aloud. It is now impossible for this to end well. He looked to Porthos and noted the slight frown marring his face. Then his gaze fell on Aramis; the marksman's posture had become uncharacteristically rigid.
"Athos, I know some about your family, and Porthos, you've told me about your mother. But I realized that, Aramis, I know nothing about your family."
Athos watched Aramis' face pale and waited for the tell-tale signs that his brother was about to run. His brother's fingers were nearly twitching as they held the reins, his feet readjusting in the stirrups. Athos began praying for something to distract d'Artagnan, desperately hoping that he was not about to ask what Athos was nearly certain he was.
"What about your par-". Aramis decided right then that he was not going to stick around for a fun game of question and answer with d'Artagnan.
"Athos, shouldn't someone being scouting the road ahead?" Aramis blurted out before d'Artagnan could even finish his question.
"Yes." Athos responded instantly; he understood that Aramis wasn't really concerned with whether or not there should be a scout on the road ahead. Aramis was asking for permission to escape, and Athos was more than willing to give it to him.
Aramis was riding ahead the moment Athos had answered, and d'Artagnan was looking between each of the Musketeers with confusion and a growing sense of dread.
"What did I do?"
"Family's not his best subject," Porthos answered as he watched Aramis disappear ahead.
"So I can avoid doing this again in the future, what should I not ask Aramis?" d'Artagnan began to wonder why he hadn't simply kept his mouth shut. All he had needed to do was make up a reason for being in a strange mood the previous night and then convince Aramis to continue his story. Sometimes he felt his honesty did more harm than good.
"Perhaps, it is best if you refrain from asking Aramis about his past. Let him tell you what he wants when he's ready to do so," Athos sighed.
"Will he ever tell me anything?" Athos was caught off guard by the crestfallen tone in d'Artagnan's voice.
"In time." Athos smiled reassuringly at the young man.
"But do we have enough time?" d'Artagnan wondered.
"Whelp, if you keep thinking like that, you'll be crazy in a week and dead in a month. The length of your life, my life, Athos' life, none of it's certain, but that doesn't mean we keep looking over our shoulders waiting for Death to show up."
For the first time in minutes, there was silence among them, and d'Artagnan considered for a long moment what Porthos had just said.
"You're right," he conceded. "Should I apologize to him?"
"If you wish. You must do what you feel is right," Athos advised. D'Artagnan nodded his acquiescence. When it became clear to Porthos that d'Artagnan would likely lose himself in his thoughts until things with Aramis could be rectified, he decided to shake the lad from his declining mood.
"Would you like to know how I became a pirate?" Porthos offered his tale as a compromise for d'Artagnan being denied his earlier investigation into their lives.
Of course the youngest member of the company nodded wildly, and Athos wondered at how d'Artagnan could do so without injuring his neck. Porthos was just about to dive into his past when he noted the movement of his horse's ears. Previously the ears had been relaxed, but quite suddenly they had stiffened and were directed toward the road ahead.
"Something's not right," Porthos whispered even as Athos reached the same conclusion. The tension in the air built as they began to wonder why Aramis had not also realized there was danger nearby, or, if he had, why he had not returned to them.
"Where is he?" d'Artagnan murmured.
The calm of the pleasant mid-morning was shattered in an instant, the sound of a firearm discharging nearby destroying any hope they may have had for another laid back day in the saddle. They immediately urged their horses to greater speed, and when another shot followed less than a second after the first, they pushed mounts harder still without hesitation.
"Damn," Porthos swore and bent low over his horse's neck. He had no doubt that whatever was going on ahead of them, Aramis was involved.
