Seems to be lots of concern about d'Artagnan and his stubbornness about trying to deal with things on his own - can't say this chapter will alleviate any of those concerns...yet. Hope you enjoy!
As had become his routine, d'Artagnan was up and dressed early, sitting in the courtyard cleaning his sword when Aramis and Porthos, escorting a mounted Athos, arrived. Although he didn't look up, the Gascon knew immediately when he'd been spotted, Aramis striding directly over while Porthos helped Athos dismount. Knowing he could not delay the inevitable, the young man plastered a broad smile on his face as he looked up from his blade and greeted his friends, "Good morning."
Aramis stood for several seconds, inspecting the man in front of him, before he replied, "Welcome back. How was your journey?"
d'Artagnan shrugged noncommittally, "Quiet and uneventful. Was nice to get away for a few days."
"Hmm," Aramis hummed as Porthos and Athos joined him, the latter sitting down across from the Gascon as Porthos arranged his crutches nearby. "When did you return?"
"Last night," the young man answered, looking down again to run his cloth over the length of his blade.
Porthos' eyes narrowed at his answer. "Didn't the Captain tell you we were at Aramis'?"
"He did," d'Artagnan allowed, "but I was tired and went straight to bed." Deciding to go on the offensive rather than waiting for the others to continue, the young man looked at Athos, asking, "How is your leg healing?"
"Slowly," Athos answered dryly, clearly unimpressed with the amount of time needed for his broken bones to fuse.
Aramis crossed his arms, not willing to let the young man change distract them, "And your side?"
"It's fine," d'Artagnan answered, turning his head back to the sword in his hands.
Porthos and Aramis sat and several long seconds passed before the Gascon lifted his head, feeling the stares of his friends on him. "What?" he asked.
"You left without tellin' us," Porthos stated, his tone kind but his look challenging the young man to disagree.
d'Artagnan offered another slight shrug, "It was early and I didn't want to wake you. I knew the Captain would fill you in and it was an easy mission – nothing to worry about."
"Haven't we taught you by now that there is no such thing as an easy mission?" Athos scolded, although there was no real heat in his words.
The young man ducked his head in embarrassment as he tried to explain, "You know what I mean. I was only delivering some letters that had no importance attached to them, and the road between Paris and St. Remi is quiet, almost boring really, if you think about it."
"Regardless, it was reckless of you to request the mission while you were still not fully recovered," Athos countered.
d'Artagnan gave a short nod of acknowledgement, understanding that the matter would not be dropped until he agreed. "So, what are the plans for today?" he asked, again trying to change the subject.
Athos exchanged looks with his other two friends, and Aramis responded, "First, I will have a look at your side while Porthos gets breakfast." The larger man was already moving as Aramis shifted closer to the Gascon, reaching for the laces of his doublet.
Sighing, d'Artagnan swatted the medic's hand away, "Stop being so grabby, I can do it myself." Putting his words to action, he unlaced and removed his doublet, pulling his shirt up to give Aramis access to his side.
Under Athos' watchful eyes, Aramis poked and prodded at the healing wound, finally sitting up with a nod. Turning to the older man, he declared, "It's healing well." Then, turning to face the Gascon again, he continued, "But I'd hazard it's still sore and causes you some trouble when you move the wrong way."
The intensity of Athos' gaze had the young man nodding, and Aramis smiled at the fact that their young friend had been truthful with them. Clapping a hand to the boy's upper arm, he said, "Nothing time won't heal at this point, and nothing to be concerned about."
d'Artagnan smiled gratefully, suggesting, "So, sword practice after breakfast?"
Aramis and Athos exchanged looks before the former answered, "I think some time with a harquebus is in order and then you can practice your positions this afternoon. Let's leave sparring for a few more days."
The young man wasn't thrilled with Aramis' answer but knew that he wouldn't be allowed to return to full duty without his friend's blessing so, with a rueful smile, he nodded. Porthos rejoined them, carrying a tray of food which he placed in the centre of the table before sitting down and beginning to eat. Aramis and Athos followed suit and had taken their first mouthfuls before it became apparent that d'Artagnan wasn't planning to eat.
Porthos motioned at the tray with his head, "Why aren't you eating?"
The young man bent his head to his task of polishing his sword as he answered, "Already ate before you got here."
The three Musketeers traded looks over the young man's bent head, but none of them had any evidence to the contrary. Having missed the earlier conversation, Porthos asked between bites, "What's the plan for today?"
"Aramis will help d'Artagnan refine his shooting skills this morning and then we will work with him on his form this afternoon," Athos replied.
The Gascon stood, sheathing his sword, "I'll go get what we need from the armory while you finish."
The three men watched as their youngest member walked away and as soon as he was out of earshot, Athos turned to Aramis, "Is he really alright?"
Aramis shrugged, "His wound is healing well, but he seems…off."
"What do you mean, off?" Porthos questioned.
"He just spent the week away on what was, by anyone's definition, an easy mission; yet he still seems fatigued, if those dark circles under his eyes are any indication, and I could almost count his ribs," Aramis explained his concerns.
"Do you believe he lied about this past week?" Athos persisted.
"It's hard to say, but I don't think it would be remiss on our part to keep a closer eye on our young friend now that he's back," Aramis suggested.
Nodding in agreement, the men finished their breakfast while they waited for the Gascon to return, at which point Aramis stood and spent the next two hours fine-tuning the young man's skills in both loading and discharging his harquebus. Athos had remained at the table, enjoying the opportunity to watch as the young man's skills sharpened under Aramis' expert instruction, while Porthos took the opportunity to spar with some of the other Musketeers.
It was close to mid-day when the four men reconvened at the table, Porthos wiping his neck and face with his kerchief, which he'd wet before sitting down, and Aramis and d'Artagnan cleaning the weapons they'd used earlier. "How did he do?" Porthos asked of Aramis, having been busy with his own practice.
Aramis dipped his head as he continued cleaning. "His shooting was adequate," he replied, mirth in his eyes as he watched for the young man's reaction.
As expected, d'Artagnan's head shot up at the comment, a look of indignation on his face. Before he could retort, Athos stepped in, "I believe he hit all of his targets and even managed once to best Aramis' shot."
Porthos snorted as d'Artagnan's face lit up at the unexpected praise, while Aramis' hand flew to his heart in mock outrage, "Athos, you wound me. Besides, I'm not sure that shot should count; you know that was when Mademoiselle Cossett arrived to get Serge's order." Everyone at the garrison was familiar with Mademoiselle Cossett, a lovely young maiden with golden hair and fine features, and the daughter of the man who supplied Serge with fruit and vegetables for his kitchen. She would appear at the garrison every other day to collect Serge's order, which would then be delivered the following day. Treville had made it clear that the girl was off limits, but that didn't stop the men from admiring her countenance.
Athos' lips quirked slightly as he pointed out, "I hardly think the enemy would make allowances for your distractions, therefore it counts."
The older man's deadpan delivery only made the statement more humorous and drew laughs from Porthos and d'Artagnan, with even Aramis grinning in defeat. "Very well, I admit that I was distracted, allowing our young Gascon to best me once."
Rolling his eyes at Aramis' phrasing of his admission, d'Artagnan stood and collected both harquebuses, "I'll go return to these to the armoury."
While he was away, Serge arrived at their table with a platter of food for the men. Porthos nodded at him appreciatively, knowing that the man had gone to extra effort over the past weeks to ensure that meals had been delivered to Athos while he'd been confined to his bed. Reaching for a plate, he looked up at Serge, "Thanks for feeding d'Artagnan this morning."
A look of confusion crossed Serge's face, "d'Artagnan? I haven't seen the boy in over a week."
"You must be mistaken. He returned last night and had already eaten this morning when we arrived," Athos corrected the man.
Serge shook his head, "No mistake. He didn't come by last night or this mornin'." He shrugged, "Not sure where he got his meals, but it wasn't from my kitchen." As he retreated, the three friends shared a concerned look.
"Maybe he went into the city for something?" Porthos offered.
"Perhaps," Aramis allowed, but none of the men looked overly convinced. d'Artagnan approached their table, retaking his seat, noticing after several moments that his friends were all staring at him.
"What?" he asked, eyes drifting from one man's face to the next.
None of the men replied as Porthos pushed the platter of food towards the young man, "Here, you must have worked up quite an appetite this morning." The larger man's gaze stayed on the Gascon as he watched the boy load his plate and take his first few bites. Satisfied, he returned his attention to his own meal.
Catching his mentor's eye, d'Artagnan asked, "How long before you're able to put weight on that leg?"
Athos glanced at Aramis, daring the man to correct him as he answered, "Another week should be sufficient."
Aramis smiled sweetly back at Athos as he added, "Another week before he can lose one of the crutches and then another two to three of light duty while he rebuilds the strength in that leg. It'll be at least a month before he's back on active duty."
Athos looked like he might disagree, but knew well that the Captain would take Aramis' opinions about his health more seriously than his own and he would need both men's blessings before he'd be allowed to return to his duties. Sighing, he gave a dip of his head in acknowledgement of Aramis' words.
"Do you think we'll be kept at the garrison until you're fit?" the Gascon questioned, already hoping there would be additional opportunities to escape his brothers' prying eyes, lest they discover his difficulties enduring the nighttime hours.
Porthos shrugged in response, "Depends what comes up. If we're needed the Captain will call on us regardless now that Athos can take care of 'imself."
The Gascon nodded, already making plans to approach Treville about the possibility of another solitary mission once he was away from the company of his friends. The rest of their meal passed pleasantly as Porthos and Aramis carried the conversation with stories of some of their more outlandish conquests. The only discomfort came from d'Artagnan when he managed to clear only half his plate and received a harsh look from Athos as a result. Lifting his hands in supplication, the young man protested, "I had a large breakfast and I don't want to be too full to practice this afternoon."
Again, the three friends allowed it, committing to ensure that their young friend ate a large supper that night. After lunch, Porthos and Aramis sparred with various members of the regiment, honing their abilities with their blades, while Athos coached d'Artagnan on his positions, offering minor corrections as he moved from one stance to the next. It was far from the young man's favorite pastime, lacking the thrill and adrenaline that accompanied matching swords with a skilled opponent, but he recognized the importance of the moves he was mastering; in the heat of battle there was little time for coherent thought, his body falling intuitively into the moves learned through hours of diligent practice.
When they'd finished, d'Artagnan was sweating from the precision and muscle control required, surprised to find his limbs trembling with fatigue and sore from the lack of stretching he'd undertaken over the previous weeks since their accident. Gratefully he fell onto the bench next to Athos, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher that sat on the table and draining its contents in a few quick gulps. Replacing the empty cup on the table, he wiped a sleeve across his brow, still breathing heavily from exertion.
"Your form is improving," Athos complimented him, d'Artagnan merely nodding in reply. "You'll want to spend some additional time stretching, if your lunges were any indication." The Gascon winced, recognizing that his lunges had been less than impressive, his stride having shortened as his flexibility diminished.
Porthos and Aramis joined them, sheathing their swords after besting their respective opponents, sitting across from their two friends. Pouring drinks for them both, Porthos drank and then looked up at the sun moving across the sky, "Time for us to clean up and get Athos back?"
Aramis gave a nod of agreement, "A fine idea, I think. You'll help him back while the boy and I collect dinner?" So agreed, the three men quickly cleaned up from their exertions before parting ways, only to meet up again later at Athos' lodgings.
Their evening passed agreeably although d'Artagnan protested the amount of food being forced on him by his friends, choosing to match Porthos drink for drink instead in the hopes that his sleep might be more peaceful for the effects of the wine. Recognizing that the young man seemed troubled, the three friends permitted it, watching over him carefully until he passed out, settling him on the bed next to Athos once he'd fallen unconscious. As the candles burned down, the three men considered their youngest member.
"Think it's because of the accident?" Porthos asked from where he lounged in his chair across from Athos' bed.
Aramis pursed his lips and shrugged, taking a moment to sip from his glass before replying, "It's quite possible although I wish we knew more of what happened down there." His gaze moved to Athos who sat up in bed, a hand laying on the young man's shoulder.
The older man's face held a mix of fondness for his protégé as well as a touch of dismay at having very little memory of what had happened while they were trapped. "I fear there's little I can add. I don't remember much of anything beyond d'Artagnan's efforts to free me followed by waking up in the infirmary."
"Did he speak of it during the week we were away?" Aramis asked.
Athos shook his head, "Not a word. He seemed…unwilling to talk about anything more than the most mundane of topics. I admit I may have done the boy a disservice, still struggling with the pain in my leg and happy for the periods of silence to read and be alone with my thoughts."
His two friends nodded in understanding, recognizing that the week of confinement would have been difficult in and of itself, but combined with the need to have someone sharing his space, it would have been especially challenging for someone like Athos.
"Do not blame yourself, my friend. I'm confident in our Gascon's ability to keep his own counsel and if he wasn't willing to say anything, there's little you could have done to convince him," Aramis assured.
"Maybe his tongue would loosen after a few drinks?" Porthos suggested, glancing again at the sleeping man.
Aramis shrugged, "It's possible however his drinking tonight seemed somewhat more…" He trailed off, unable to find the right word.
"Desperate," Athos interjected quietly. Aramis and Porthos nodded in agreement with the word Athos had supplied. The young man had seemed keen to escape something - something of which his friends were unaware – and the normally exuberant and talkative young man had fallen quiet and morose as one drink quickly followed the last.
Draining his glass, Aramis pushed himself from his chair, "Will you be alright with him tonight?"
Athos nodded as Porthos followed Aramis' lead, also preparing to leave. "I'll be back for you in the morning?" Porthos offered, garnering another head nod from the older man.
The two bid their friend good night, ensuring the partially-emptied bottle of wine was next to the bed along with the man's crutches. As Athos considered the thick, red liquid in his glass, he drew comfort from the regular rise and fall of the young man's chest and wondered again what had affected his protégé so deeply that he'd tried to drink himself into oblivion.
It was nearly pitch black in the room when Athos was startled awake by the murmurings and panicked motions of the man beside him. Carefully, Athos rolled to face the young man, waiting for his eyes to adjust in the dim light cast by the moon outside his window. As his sight improved, he could see the young man's face screwed up in pain and covered with a sheen of sweat. His head occasionally tossed and his hands twitched as sounds of despair were pulled from the young man's lips. Frowning at the sight of his protégé's distress, Athos placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, speaking softly to either comfort or wake him from the nightmare that gripped him. As he squeezed the Gascon's shoulder, the young man flailed, pulling himself away from the touch with an anguished sob. Before he realized what was about to happen, d'Artagnan had rolled away from Athos, thumping into the wall beside the bed, bringing the young man upright to cast wild eyes around the room.
Athos was shocked at the intense reaction, and pitched his voice lowly to calm the young man who now panted and trembled against the wall. "d'Artagnan, you're alright now. It was just a bad dream." The words seemed to have little effect and Athos could see the boy's eyes darting around the room as the moonlight glinted off of them. Hardening his tone, Athos tried again, "d'Artagnan, you're safe. Calm yourself."
This time Athos saw the boy's gaze turn to his own and he waited several seconds before recognition seemed to dawn in the Gascon's eyes. Taking a gulping breath, d'Artagnan pulled his legs inward, resting his elbows on his knees as his hands cradled his head. Athos could hear the boy struggling to slow his breathing and he ached to comfort him, but he didn't dare touch the young man for fear that it might have the opposite effect. After several minutes, d'Artagnan seemed to have recovered and Athos tried again, "d'Artagnan, are you alright?"
The Gascon lifted his face at his mentor's words and Athos was taken aback by the look of helplessness and despair reflected in the boy's eyes. Inhaling deeply, the young man mumbled, "I'm fine. Sorry for waking you." With those words, he stretched his legs out and pulled himself off the end of the bed. Athos watched as he stumbled around the room to gather his boots and doublet, before replacing his weapons at his hips.
"Where are you going?" Athos queried.
"Back to my room," d'Artagnan responded, scrubbing a hand across his face.
"It's the middle of the night and you drank quite heavily. It would be quite irresponsible of me to allow you to wander the streets when you're still suffering the effects."
This drew a small smile from the young man, the moonlight illuminating the white of his teeth, "I'll be fine Athos, and you need your rest. I'll see you in the morning."
"d'Arganan," Athos tried a last time, "I would sleep better knowing that you are safe."
That seemed to make the Gascon hesitate for a moment and Athos held his breath as the young man considered before shaking his head, "I'll be fine Athos. Get some sleep. Good night."
Athos watched the boy walk out, closing the door firmly behind him, and he released the breath he'd been holding while he'd waited to see if d'Artagnan would change his mind. The situation was troubling and Athos knew sleep would likely be difficult now as his mind tried to make sense of what had just happened. Nightmares weren't unusual for a soldier and all four of them had experienced their fair share, but never had one of their group reacted as strongly as d'Artagnan just had. Whatever the boy had dreamt about had clearly unsettled him, badly, and the fact that he preferred to return to his own room in the middle of the night suggested that the boy expected his sleep to be disturbed again. If the situation was this severe it would eventually reach a state where it would put the boy and others in danger, an outcome that Athos was unwilling to allow. Resolving to speak with Aramis and Porthos about what had happened in the morning, he tried to get comfortable, willing his mind to still and his eyes to close so he might get a few more hours sleep before morning arrived.
d'Artagnan was grateful that Athos hadn't argued more strongly for him to stay and was especially glad that the older man wasn't able to physically follow him out into the Paris night. He knew it was a cowardly thought, but he'd barely managed to keep the nausea at bay while he'd dressed and bid Athos good night, and he now stumbled to the nearest wall where he was violently ill. He knew that the wine he'd consumed the previous evening did him no favours, but the intensity of his dreams often had him purging his stomach; it was the real reason for his lack of appetite, since it was difficult to enjoy a meal when you expected to be expelling it later.
Once he was certain his stomach had finished, he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd braced himself and began walking slowly back toward the garrison. Although it was the middle of the night and his body begged for rest, he had no inclination to close his eyes again and relive the terrible images that consistently plagued him. He knew that Athos would be concerned and by the morning he would have shared the night's events with their friends; he groaned to himself about the questions he would have to face at their morning meal. He knew that he should be grateful for their concern, but he was too miserable right now to view their actions as anything other than unwelcome meddling.
