Hi guys, how are you? Here we are with another chapter of this collection, L for Loved. Yes, that's pretty much an obvious choice, but I couldn't really resist getting the chance to spread as much fluffiness as possible, and, most importantly, our friend MargretThornton was kind enough to make a prompt: "I would love very much to read about some cuteness, or maybe bittersweetness, between Constance and D'Artagnan. I love their love story and I always felt there is something missing between 1x07 e 1x08". Since I so loved her prompt, thank you so much my dear, and considered that I already had in mind to write something less angsty and funnier this time, I tried my hand with this, twisting it a little to make it… I don't know, more original? Well, let me know if you like it, ok? Of course, i couldn't let D'Artagnan go without whumping him a little, and I added some brotherly affection for good measure.
Ok, thank you time and I'll let you enjoy (I hope) the new chapter:
LJ Groundwater: Thank you so much again for your review, it helped me to correct the text so that it was easier to read, and thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so glad you like the collection so far!
Debbie: Wow! Thank you! Hahahah me too, I'm so glad I was able to convey the angst, it was my goal but it wasn't an easy one!
Tidia: Thank you dear, I'm really flattered! I can't really change my focus from brotherly love, I can't even try, so I'm glad you appreciate it!
Animexchick: Hahaha I'm so happy! Thank you so much for your review!
CandyCakes: Why, thank you so much for your kind words, I always try my best to describe each character and I'm so glad you found my description fitting of their personalities! I can't even start to explain how much it means to me your review!
Issai: Yes, that's exactly why I felt that chapter 9 was a bit hard to read, because of D'Artagnan's decision. It wasn't just a moment, he didn't jump in front of Aramis to shield him from a bullet, he decided to sacrifice himself to save him! I'm glad you appreciated its meaning. And I'm really happy you also liked Aramis' description, I poured my own emotions in the story so I was a bit worried when I published it, I wasn't sure I was able to picture his reactions with enough accuracy. Thank you so much for letting me know your opinion!
Inhi: Hahaha thank you so much, I'm trying and I'm so glad that you still like the work! I also love whumping everybody, as you can see, and protectiveness is my favorite emotion! Hahaha yes, I titled the chapter Immovable for more than one reason! Thank you also for letting me know about the problem with quotes, in Italy we use different symbols so I didn't realize that it was hard to read, please let me know if I make more mistakes, ok? And thank you, really, thank you so much! I loved your review, as always!
Sarah: Thank you my dear, I can't stop smiling since your review!
MargretThornton: Hahahah thank you Margret! You're always so supporting that I can't find enough words to tell you how grateful I am. I hope that with this chapter, written for you, I'll be able to express my gratitude, and please, if you have more prompts just let me know! About last chapter, I'm really glad you liked my descriptions, I worked really hard to picture every character's reaction so it's really gratifying to be able to express what I wanted. Looking into the emotions of men who are also warriors, soldiers, Musketeers, is absolutely fascinating, and I'm pleased that the attempt is appreciated! Please, let me know what you think of this chapter!
And, as usually, thank you so much to all those who added me to their favs/follow lists, it means the world to me to know that someone, somewhere, appreciate my efforts and awaits the next chapters! Ah, if you have prompts, please, don't be shy!
Post scriptum: Italic means flashback.
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
Loved
"To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal.
Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements.
Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change.
It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
To love is to be vulnerable."
(C.S. Lewis)
– – – – – – – – – – – – –
Nothing, in his life, had ever tasted like that.
Like her.
Like the sweetest freshly baked fragrant bread mixed with cinnamon and sun, with raindrops and rainbows, so warm and so dazzling that he had immediately felt himself drown.
Bewitched.
Infatuated.
Her softness under his fingertips, her gentle, perfectly shaped curves melting under his own touch.
And her skin, oh her skin, porcelain fair under the warming glow of dozens burning candles.
Even now, if he closed his eyes for just a moment he could see her stunningly periwinkle blue irises smiling at him, calling for him, loving him. Even now, if he concentrated on his own heartbeat he could feel his blood running hot in sync with her pulse. Her warmth, caramel and chocolate mingling together, rainfall after a long, summer day.
And he felt renewed.
Liberated.
Loved.
Nothing had ever looked as beautiful as her long, curly mane, brushing against his young, naked chest.
Nothing had ever smelled as enticing as her, a freshly gathered bouquet of wildflowers from a lush, emerald green field.
And her lips. Oh, her lips. Melting under his own demanding mouth, twitching, smiling, laughing, breathing his breath, caressing his heart.
He could float right now, and he wouldn't even notice.
He could be hurt, deadly injured, even, and never feel the pain.
Her scent was all over his clothes, over his hands, his lips, burning his throat, after the night they spent together, their first night as lovers, and he couldn't, for the life of him, stop smiling.
"I love you".
"I love you too D'Artagnan. Charles. I love you".
Constance's murmur was barely a whisper, her cheek safely nestled in the crook of his neck, her fingers gripping his bare arms relishing the softness of his skin, her eyes closed, eyelids tickling his chin, enveloped in his scent.
Hers. D'Artagnan was finally hers.
"I'd die for you, Constance, mon amour. I would die for you" he breathed as a reply, tracing her neck with his own lips, marveling at her pulse under his touch. She was so stunningly beautiful that he couldn't even think to let her go, to remove his hands, wrapped around her slim waist tight enough to remind himself that finally, finally, she was his. His to love, to please, to cherish. His to protect, to kiss, to comfort. Flesh against flesh, dark tresses intertwining with coppery red curls, painting the most amazing color shade of brown the dying light of an early summer sunset. He had never felt as alive as right now, right there, holding her close to his bare chest, breathing heavily after, and for the first time, he had claimed her as his own. Because she would be his, he knew that. Forever. She was going to leave Bonacieux, it was just a matter of time, and soon, very soon he would be the one looking at those lovely, lovely eyelids flutter open in the morning to greet another day.
"I can't live without you, D'Artagnan" she gasped, rejoicing the unique way his lips could spread warmth under her sensitive skin. Like a fire, burning, strong, unwavering, like an ocean's wave, so powerful to destroy everything in its curse. Like a summer storm, powerful and yet so much refreshing. Surely but steadily he had burst into her life turning everything she knew upside down, her fading dreams of love, her withering thoughts of hope, her frightening future, bound hands and feet to a man that treated her like a pretty doll, never enough to be truly loved, to be listened, to be trusted. Just an object to show off, a lovely jewel, nothing more. And he had conquered her heart so suddenly, and violently, that she was still breathless.
But if being loved felt like that, Constance hoped she would never, ever be able to breathe properly again.
"You're the most amazing, beautiful, generous woman I've ever met, my love" D'Artagnan huskily whispered, lips barely brushing her curls, as if he was afraid to break the spell that was binding them together in that small, cozy kitchen. And he laughed when he felt her smile against his skin, cheeks flushing with love and joy.
"And you are, sir, the most brave, reckless, amazing man I've ever met" she giggled, squealing with pleasure as she felt his arms move from their spot around her hips to circle her knees and easily lift her up, before he carried her to his room, careless of the plates, pots, apples, and vegetables rolled to the ground as a result of their first, unforgettable and so intense moment of passion. Of Love.
"Oh really?" he murmured, kissing her hair while his arms lowered her gently to the small bed. "Then I'm going to show you how truly amazing I am".
He couldn't feel happier than he felt right now, even if a thrill ran down his spine as he recalled the dramatic events that had ultimately led them to each other. Was it really just a couple days ago since he and Porthos escorted Constance at home after her young friend, Therese, died while trying to give a letter to the Queen? And then the whole Ninon ordeal, sentenced to die on the pyre as a witch?
And yet, he knew he had loved her the moment he laid his eyes on her, on that faithful day a few months ago, when snow covered the ground and winter was still breathing hard on a silver clouded sky.
That's why he was so happy, now.
He had tried so hard to win her love, to fight the guilt he felt every time he remembered that she was a married woman. For he knew they were meant to be together, somehow he had always known. And now that at last the moment had come, he felt tremble. And burn. And so very alive.
For the first time since his father's death, he felt that everything was following the right direction in his life.
Because what could possibly go wrong when he had three older brothers who had fairly adopted him when he thought he'd be all alone in this unfriendly world, a trunk full of dreams and hopes regarding his future, and a charming, loving woman who adored him at his side?
Yes, he could float and he'd never notice, 'cos he felt like floating right now, while crossing those few streets that separated Constance's home from the garrison, crisp forenoon air brushing his flushed face and birds chirping their good morning to the world.
And he just couldn't stop smiling.
He felt so truly, deeply loved that he almost feared he would explode.
Everything was just so beautiful around him… the Seine gliding gracefully as a cascade of gems in the dust, the light gray walls of the gorgeous, ancient City, and the ocean blue sky above him, illuminated by a generous full sun, benevolent as the caring arms of a lover, and fierce, as the most valiant warrior.
He felt the need to laugh. And to shout. And to spread his arms and just tell everybody that Constance loved him. Him! Charles D'Artagnan, from Lupiac, Gascony. A simple farm boy raised by an honorable ex-soldier and a beautiful brown haired, doe eyed woman who had loved him with all her heart until the day she died.
Constance loved him! D'Artagnan!
How could he ever stop smiling? Even if that smile made him look like a fool?
He couldn't even bring himself to care if his brothers would soon make fun of him! His heart was a waterfall erupting from a sky-high mountain, a fire burning from the depths of the Earth, a thunder breaking a silent, dark winter night, that happy he was, and he couldn't reign his emotions. He couldn't hide how loved he felt.
Nothing could ever bother him, not now, not with the devotion of his brothers and his woman, his Constance, protecting his soul.
"The sun is rising, soon you'll have to go"
"But I'll be back. I'll always come back to you, Constance"
"You promise?"
"I swear. I'll never leave you, mon amour, never. Nothing could keep me apart from you, I'll always be back"
"I believe you"
"I know"
Paris was barely waking up when D'Artagnan made his way to the garrison, and he loved every second he spent walking through those small, empty streets, sun and shadows outlying the white tall buildings like only the pencil of an artist could. As he breathed, he could still smell animals, men, rotten goods and mud, but there was something fresh in the early morning air too, as if the night had the power to dampen what stunk, bringing out the true scent of the earth. And he loved it.
As much as he loved the low nickering noise of the horses when they slept in the stables close to each other, or the redundant booming sound of the Notre Dame's bells, marking every hour of the day with a timeless song, the sweet taste of an apple, and the cinnamon spice of Constance's skin, as smooth as the richest velvet, and equally delicate.
He let his hands roam along her body, shoulders, arms, hands that intertwines and then climb up her slender hips, her perfect breast, reaching her mouth to part her lips and then claim them as their own.
"Sweet" he murmured, never separating his mouth from hers, breathing her breath, savoring her taste.
She gasped, fisting her pale hand in his dark locks to deepen the kiss. To reach his soul.
"Hey lad! Where 'ave you been?"
D'Artagnan almost jumped out of his skin as soon as Porthos' voice brutally awakened him from his thoughts. When did he reach the garrison?
And still, there they were.
His brothers.
Porthos, standing beside their usual table, left hand still closed around the goblet of wine he had just put next to his food-filled plate, brow furrowed quizzically but lips smiling in affection at his youngest brother.
Aramis, tiredly lifting his curly head from his porridge, a flash of amusement in those dark dazzling orbs as soon as he spotted their young Gascon.
And Athos, nursing a cup, probably wine, regarding him with a slightly pale face but piercing hurricane blue eyes, his back barely hunched betraying, for those who knew him well enough to see beyond his stoic expression, another late night.
And D'Artagnan couldn't help himself.
As soon as he saw them there his smile just broadened, and before he could realize what he was doing he approached them waving his hand like a child, totally unaware of the three sets of eyebrows that arched as one at his unadulterated display of enthusiasm.
"Good morning!" he exclaimed joyfully, spreading both his arms like a skinny bird as if he was ready to fly. But he didn't allow them the time to form a reply. Before he could try, Porthos found his arms full of an overly hyper sparkling eyed little Gascon, who hugged him with such a force that the Musketeer was left almost out of breath.
"Oi! What happened to you!" Porthos inquired, exchanging a baffled glance with his stunned brothers.
"Good news?" Aramis tried, widening his deep brown eyes as a dazzling smile blinded him just before two still-too-slender arms encircled his neck from behind, in a bone crushing hug that pretty much choked him.
By then, Athos' eyebrows had long from disappeared under the brim of his hat at his younger brother's antics. But, much like his comrades, he didn't get the chance to ask their Gascon what had happened to make him that happy. As soon as he parted his lips to speak D'Artagnan slapped his back in a maybe-too-enthusiastic attempt to express him his affection, and suddenly all he could do was to tense his muscles to avoid end up face first in his plate. And the sun wasn't even completely up yet...
"Uhm… not that we aren't glad to see you… uhm… so happy", Porthos managed to stutter, trying his best to stifle a laugh at Athos' disgruntled stare, "but can you tell us why you are almost bouncing, lad?".
Finally, obviously satisfied at having properly expressed his affection to his brothers, D'Artagnan sat, still smiling like a madman. And then he sighed, so deeply that Aramis briefly feared he would faint.
"Constance" the Gascon breathed, resting his cheek in his hand, big dreamy puppy eyes glittering like stars.
Porthos booming laugh probably awoke more than a previously blissfully asleep Musketeer…
"Ah, young love!" he teased, slapping his own hand on his brother's shoulder with affection.
"Did you spend a pleasant evening, my dear friend?" Aramis grinned, leaning forward on his arms eager to listen to their Gascon. It was an amusing sight to see, a lovestruck D'Artagnan, so beaming he was, a contented smile still curling upward his mouth, and a slight blush on his really too gaunt cheeks.
"The best of my whole life" he nodded, blinding Aramis with another sun bright smile, before releasing another deep, toe curling sigh. "I told her I love you" D'Artagnan purred, relishing the long, overwhelming thrill that passed through his lean but muscular frame.
"Awww… My teeth are going to hurt with all this sweet talks" Porthos laughed, shaking his head at his brother's antics.
"And what did the fair Constance do, after your declaration of love?" Aramis asked, crossing his strong arms with a brilliant smile on his handsome face.
"She told me she loves me too" D'Artagnan practically exhaled, eliciting an eye roll from an amused Athos, who, despite his stoic facade, smiled knowingly. He remembered well enough what love felt like, even if he had decided long ago to never fell under its spell again. And although his heart was shattered to pieces, buried under gallons of cheap red wine and nightmares filled with bloodied daggers, he still longed for the spark that something so powerful could light in a man's soul.
"Well, that's good" Aramis grinned brightly, resting his hand on his little brother's arm to squeeze it. "Did you kiss her?.
"Aramis!" D'Artagnan cried, blushing so fiercely that Porthos thought he could catch fire, so red he was from neck to forehead.
"Did you?" the Spaniard insisted, exchanging a grin with their amused brothers. Oh, how he loved to tease their Gascon! How could he let the chance pass?
But D'Artagnan was just too overjoyed to be embarrassed for long. It took him only a moment to exhale a hoarse "yes".
This time both Aramis and Porthos laughed, that dreamy expression on D'Artagnan's face was priceless. He looked like he could burst at any moment, deep brown eyes glistening with happiness, and lips curled upward so widely that he probably felt pain. But it was obvious that he couldn't stop smiling, he couldn't even try, for his mind kept coming back to that wonderful, unforgettable night, and to Constance, who, for the first time, had given him all of herself.
"I can't believe she loves me" the Gascon murmured, more to himself than to his brothers. "She is just so… amazing. And so beautiful. And brave".
And then he grew serious, so much that Aramis, Athos and Porthos were caught off guard. "How can she possibly love me? I've nothing to offer to her, really, I'm just a farmboy from Gascony with more dreams than coins in my pockets …without a home, without a certain future… and still… she loves me. Can you believe that?" he asked, lowering his eyes to look at his hands, fingers tracing absentmindedly the knots of the wooden table, swallowing to try and keep his sudden anxiety in check.
But then a warm hand raised his chin, and when he looked into his brothers' faces he had to furrow his brow. For he met three obviously fond smiles.
"Of course, D'Artagnan" Aramis assured him, a note of protectiveness in his velvety voice, his grip tightening on his brother's arm. "You're a good man, loyal to fault, brave, and a good warrior. Why shouldn't she love you? Mh?".
But D'Artagnan just frowned more. Now that he comes to think of that, he found it impossible to really believe that she could reciprocate his love…
"She's just so. gorgeous! You know her, she can hold her own in a fight, keep a clear head when she's in troubles, and defend her beliefs as fiercely as any warrior while cooking a stew… am I deluding myself?" he whispered, suddenly tensing so much that Porthos felt the urge to add his own hand on his slim shoulders to console him, helpless in front of those big, tearful, heart-wrenchingly innocent brown orbs.
"Now, now whelp" he muttered, panicking a little as his voice draw his little brother's attention, he wasn't good at consoling people in tears, they made him feel small and incapable.
Luckily, and Athos had to admit it was one of his many gifts, some more annoying than others, Aramis knew exactly what to say to soothe his protégé's raising dispair.
"Calm yourself, D'Artagnan", the Spaniard promptly reassured, moving his hand up and down their Gascon's arm. "You don't need to worry, do you? Constance told you she loves you, and she would never lie to you. Don't sell yourself so short, my friend, none of us, well, except our Comte, of course, have really any money on his name, do you think we would also be unworthy of the love of a fair maiden like Constance?"
"Of course not!" D'Artagnan all but shouted, straightening himself so quickly that he almost fell from his seat on the bench, soulful brown irises blazing now with such a fire that Aramis was left speechless. "You're the best Musketeers of the whole France, and the most honourable, loyal, and brave brothers I could ever hope to find!" the Gascon argued, so forcefully that Porthos had to bow his head a little to hide a blush, and even Athos regarded him with a fond stare. But then, D'Artagnan deflated, his back hunched again in sorrow, and he sighed dejectedly. "I'm not like you. I'd like to, and I hope that one day I'll be able to match both your skills and your hearts, but right now-"
"Stop right there" Aramis interrupted him sternly, grabbing gently his chin to force him to look at him in the eyes. "Do you trust me, D'Artagnan? Do you trust us?"
"Of course!" the Gascon almost sputtered, so dumb it was for him that dumb question. He'd trust those men with his life, did they really doubted that?
But Aramis just grinned widely. "Then believe me when I tell you that Constance is lucky to have you by her side, little brother".
D'Artagnan blushed, but even if he felt both touched and embarrassed at the marksman's praise – Aramis, one of the three men he most admired in the world – he couldn't stifle the urge to search for Porthos' and Athos' eyes too, just to be sure that they really agreed with what he said. And he couldn't help the small flash of surprise that burst in his chest when he realized that they were regarding him steadily, none of them contradicting their brother's words.
So he smiled, wider than before, so wide that his face could probably split in two, as he recognized their affection for him in those gazes. In Porthos' chocolate deep brown orbs, looking at him with a bright amused twinkle, lips upward and the warm, comforting weight of his hand still on his shoulder. In Athos' winter cold irises, their light blue darkened by his affection for his young, reckless, but sometimes too endearing for his own good, protégé. And in Aramis' eyes too, still fixed on his face, as if he knew that D'Artagnan needed to search the truth in their gazes to be able to believe he was worth of their devotion for him. And the young Gascon felt warm all over again, and honored, because he knew that they didn't usually bestow their love so freely. "Thank you" he sighed relieved, lowering his gaze now that his cheeks were blushing brightly again. God, how did I get so lucky? What did I do to deserve such wonderful brothers?
"Come on, cheeky bugger, let's train 'efore you rub all this sweetness on us" Porthos grinned, taking pity on his brother awkwardness, patting his back one last time encouragingly before removing his hand and stretching his arms, ready to start a new day.
"I'm ready" D'Artagnan nodded gratefully, artfully pretending not to have noticed the exasperated look that both Athos and Aramis had turned to his breakfast plate, appeared who knows when under his lovestruck nose, and left completely untouched right where his brothers had placed it.
Aramis sighed but decided to let it go, raising from his seat to join his brothers. "Right, let me see your progress with the musket" he suggested, laughing wholeheartedly when D'Artagnan nodded eagerly before flanking him on his way to the shooting range and flinging an arm across his broad shoulders.
"Aren't we cuddly today?" the Spaniard teased, even if his own arm encircled his little brother's slender frame affectionately.
"I'm just grateful for your lessons, brothers" was D'Artagnan warm reply.
"Yeah, right, you keep lookin' at us with those puppy eyes and you'll make even Athos pet you like a kitten, whelp" Porthos grinned, swiftly avoiding their Lieutenant infamous stare that he immediately felt piercing at his back at his remark.
"Porthos' right, D'Artagnan, you can't strip the man of his dignity" Aramis laughed, completely unbothered himself by Athos' narrowed-to-slits icicle orbs that, at that point, where openly threatening them, making him look more disgruntled than ever.
Something that amused Aramis to no end…
"Shut up, children" their elder grumbled, shooting one of his trademark stares to his suspiciously gasping protégé too for good measure.
"Yes sir" the threesome replied as one, just a second before bursting out laughing again, so hard that they had to lean on each other to avoid stumbling.
Of course, as soon as they regained their breath, much to Athos exasperation, D'Artagnan found it all the more difficult to try and focus on his task – reload and fire his musket repeatedly, while following Aramis' instructions – because, reassured by his brothers' words, ecstasy was again in command of his body. And Constance the only coherent thought in his mind.
And the harder he tried to concentrate - eyes trained on the bullseye of the target, arm straight, musket aligned with his shoulder, wrist relaxed, finger on the trigger – the more difficult it was to keep his mind on the task at hand. Because the smell of the gunpowder dancing in smoke's spirals around his face remembered him of that first time he had taught Constance how to hold a musket, and the hardness of the steel and wood that his fingers were gripping evoked her luminous smile, her unadulterated mirth at learning something so adventurous as marksmanship.
And as his body evoked those feelings, her sparkling blue eyes captured his mind again, bringing him back to those blissful hours spent in lovingly exploration of the shape of their bodies, under the watchful eyes of a clear, vigilant, pale moon.
"Do you remember the first time you kissed me?"
Her voice was so soft, so tender, that D'Artagnan couldn't answer her question right away. He felt so at peace right there, lying between those lavender scented sheets of the little room he rented after his arrival in Paris with her warm weight against his side, her silky red curls stroking his chest, her angelic face nestled in the crook of his neck.
"How could I ever forget, mon cherie? You slapped me so hard that I almost fell to the ground" he grinned, tilting his head to kiss her burgundy red lips.
She laughed, a small, contented sound that reverberated through his bare chest, nuzzling his arm with her slightly flushed cheek.
"You were beautiful in that pale yellow dress" he murmured lovingly, smiling at the memory, tightening his hold on her waist enough to draw her closer to him.
"But you mistaken me for a prostitute!" she protested, slapping his chest lightly with her small hand, promptly captured by D'Artagnan's bigger one.
He brought her palm to his lips, kissing fingertip after fingertip with such a tenderness that she couldn't stifle a deep throaty moan. "I didn't. I just thought that you looked even more stunning when you were angry" he admitted, laughing harder when she lifted her head in outrage.
"Brute!" she huffed, sapphire blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think I will forbid you from kissing me again, monsieur, to punish you for you lack of manners".
D'Artagnan only grinned more, before rolling over her, frowning teasingly.
"Oh really?" he challenged, relishing the softness of her bare skin against his naked body
"See if I won't!" she retorted, her eyes widening as she tried to push him off of her with her small hands, only to end up pinned to the bed by her wrists.
"May I ask you how you intend to stop me from kissing you, Constance?" D'Artagnan grinned, easily holding her down with his larger hands.
"Unhand me!" she growled, but a laugh was already bubbling in her stomach, and she couldn't really force her eyes to look stern. She had never dared to dream that she could experience this much happiness before, never. She was all too aware of how painful it was to fall when she let her mind free to wander too high. But D'Artagnan… well. He had changed everything. She had found herself daydreaming about him even before she realized that she was in love with him. First sight, no less. And now… now she just couldn't believe that love tasted so good. That she was loved.
Deeply, truly, completely.
That D'Artagnan was in love with Constance, the small porcelain doll her husband often kept locked up in a modest city house with nothing better to do than cooking and sewing. That he admired her adventurous heart, her fierceness, her inner strength.
And that was one of the many reasons why she fell in love with the young man with all her soul. Because he was the first one to look at her and see her. Not only her gook look, for she knew she was pretty, she wasn't one of those vain women who pretended to be unaware of their attractiveness to scrape up a compliment or two.
Her.
Unruly curls, quick tongue, always too reddened cheeks, and a proud, passionate, loyal soul.
"I will never, ever release you, mon amour. Never" D'Artagnan vowed, far too seriously for their private joke, looking at those summer sky irises so intensely that she felt another deep, toe curling, heartbeat-quickening shiver run trough her overheated body. Right before his lips parted, claiming her mouth as his own.
"… D'Artagnan? Are you listening?"
"Oi whelp, he's talking to you!"
D'Artagnan flinched abruptly as Porthos' hand landed heavily on his shoulder, wrestling him back from his daydreaming.
"Uhm… what?" he stammered, blinking once, twice, to refocus on what was around him: the garrison's courtyard, now much less empty than before, and his three older brothers, who were regarding him both sternly and amusedly.
"Am I boring you?" Aramis asked, not really offended by their young one's inattention since he knew all too well how love could entrap even the strongest of men. Like himself, for example..
"Of-of course not, Aramis" their Gascon hastily replied, blushing furiously at being caught with his mind elsewhere. Especially since each of his brothers knew very well what was distracting him from his training…
"Well, since I seem unable to uphold your attention maybe we should move to hand to hand combat and see if Porthos will do better than me" the Spaniard suggested, eliciting a grin and a nod from their bigger brother. Maybe something more… active would help him to focus...
Of course, it just wasn't meant to be. Under the watchful gaze of both Athos and Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos faced each other, ready to start their fight. And much to the older Musketeers' dismay, the fight was rather quick. Too quick, indeed.
Yes, D'Artagnan was surprisingly agile due to his slim frame, and thanks to his upbringings, and usually he was capable enough to dodge Porthos' lounges, using what they had taught to him so far to keep standing even against such a formidable opponent. Today, though, his mind kept running elsewhere, and, all in all, it was just a matter of time before he would make a mistake.
Such as removing himself from Porthos' fist trajectory not as quickly as he should, for instance, only to receive said fist directly on his forehead, just above his right temple. And since the Musketeer felt sure his brother would dodge, he hadn't restrained himself, fairly knocking D'Artagnan out on the spot.
That's why, delivered the aforementioned blow, Porthos' mouth dropped open in horror, panic filled dark brown eyes glued to his little brother's slim form now sprawled unconscious on the hard ground.
"Christ- D'Artagnan!" the big Musketeer shouted, dropping to his knees to reach for him, Aramis already on their Gascon's side checking for his pulse, and then sighing in relief as soon as he felt their youngster's steady heartbeat under his gentle fingers.
"He's unconscious but- no concussion" the Spaniard confirmed, lifting their brother's eyelids to check his pupils.
"I-I'm sorry, I-I thought he would-" Porthos stammered, moving his arms ever so gently to lift him and lay him against his broad, muscular chest.
"We know, Porthos, calm yourself. D'Artagnan made a mistake" Athos firmly reassured his brother, even if his pale blue eyes betrayed his concern at D'Artagnan's loss of consciousness.
"Athos is right, Porthos" Aramis added, focused on their young one but not oblivious to his brother's guilt streaked voice. "He should have paid more attention, I'm sure that when he'll wake up he'll tell you the same".
Porthos grunted, but his eyes were still clouded when Aramis nodded his assent for him to hoist D'Artagnan from the ground. Carefully his strong arms moved to support their Gascon's back and knees, before he moved, cradling him in his chest.
"Bring him to my room" the Spaniard instructed, following Porthos to make sure that D'Artagnan's head rested comfortably against his shoulder.
"I'll bring you fresh water" Athos nodded, knowing what their medic would need from experience.
"Thank you" Aramis replied, before focusing solely on their little troublemaker of a brother, worried by his prolonged unconsciousness.
Something that he wasn't the only one to notice, since, as soon as he placed D'Artagnan on Aramis' bed, Porthos' brow furrowed in concern.
"Why is 'e still out cold?"
"He should recover his senses at any moment now" Aramis muttered, pressing his palm flat on their brother's forehead, his handsome face strained in concern and his watchful eyes trained on the youngster, the one who, somehow, in such a short time had succeeded where many before him had failed. In conquering the Inseparable's hearts.
"How is he"
Athos too joined them a moment later, his strong arm carrying a bucket full of cold water unwaveringly even if his sharp crystal blue eyes located D'Artagnan immediately, clouding with worry. "He is still unconscious" he frowned, accidentally mimicking Porthos' words. This time, however, Aramis didn't get the chance to reply. A slight moan, in fact, catalyzed the three Musketeers' attention to the small medic's bed, propped against the bare, white wall of his room, temporarily occupied by the young Gascon. And it was with a surge of relief that they saw his brown eyes, shadowed by confusion and probably pain, open, a sign that he was finally recovering from the blow.
"D'Artagnan, can you hear me? Look at me if you can" Aramis immediately called, his hands moving to frame their little brother's face.
"…r'mis" the youngster slurred slightly, blinking slowly as if he couldn't remember what had happened to him. A worrisome thought, for the Spaniard, who frowned more, bending his back to examine the boy's irises looking for symptoms.
"Concussion?" Porthos groaned ashamed, sitting heavily on a chair to rest his face in his hands, dreading the answer.
"No" Aramis immediately reassured him, shaking is head in his haste to save his brother from his guilt. "He is just a bit dazed, right, D'Artagnan?"
"P'thos… m'fine" their Gascon replied without missing a beat, even if it was obvious that he hadn't really grasped the full meaning of their words, much to Aramis' amusement.
"Here, have some water" Athos offered, lips twitching at D'Artagnan eagerness to ease their brother's discomfort. That was one the things he admired in him: his readiness to please, to help, to bring comfort, sometimes even if he didn't understand the situation, or he couldn't, for as much as they loved him as a brother he had joined them a few months ago, and he didn't know a lot about their difficult pasts, their nightmares, their shadows. Still, he tried his best, because that's how he loved. That's how he cared. That's how he lived. With all his heart.
And Porthos too had to grin gratefully at his brother words, unable to stop his hand to ruffle his hair affectionately.
"Yeah, I can see that, lad" he chuckled, rolling his eyes at Aramis' and Athos' knowing glance.
"Fortunately you have a hard head, D'Artagnan" Aramis grinned, grabbing him under his arms to help him sit up, and then holding him steady as a bout of dizziness made him tremble. "Better?" he asked as soon as dark brown eyes opened to look at him, smiling in sympathy when D'Artagnan nodded just to wince and moan, probably because of the pain that the movement caused to his head.
"I'm… s'rry" their Gascon slurred weakly, lifting a hand to his forehead, promptly batted away by the Spaniard's bigger one, to stop him from bothering the bruise already forming on his temple. "I should…'ave paid more… attention".
"Indeed" Athos nodded sternly, only to visibly flinch as soon as two big puppy eyes turned on him pinning him with a disarmingly pitiful look. Darn Gascon.
"Now, now" Aramis grinned, clearing his throat in an undisguised attempt to stifle a laugh "what counts now is that you feel better, D'Artagnan".
"I do!" the youngster promptly assured, blinking owlishly to clear his blurred vision.
"I doubt it, whelp, that was a nasty blow" Porthos grumbled, cursing his own carelessness for the umpteenth time.
"Stop… worryin'… P'thos, 'm fine" D'Artagnan insisted, accepting grateful the water Aramis offered him.
"Slowly, little brother" the Spaniard admonished, resting his hand on his brother's trembling one to help him take a sip.
"I've… never felt like that… before" D'Artagnan breathed, as soon as he was resting comfortably with his back propped against a couple of well-placed pillows, trying to explain his behavior, his error, lest they mistook it for incompetence. He knew, now, that they meant it when they called him little brother, something for which he felt so very grateful that often, just thinking about that, he felt his heart jump directly in his throat. But they were also the Inseparables, the King's best Musketeers, and their opinion mattered to him more than anything else. He was afraid to disappoint them, he was afraid that one day they could find him unworthy of their expectations, less talented than they had initially believed, and that they, therefore, realized that investing so much time, sweat and energy in his training had been a waste. An error. A regret. So he had to make them understand the depth of his feelings for Constance by baring his soul, showing them his heart. It was the only way, for them, to forgive him for his lapse of concentration.
Hey should have known that they already understood. That they knew. Not only because each end every one of them had had their own struggle with love, but for that soul deep connection that had linked them since their first encounter, when his father's blood was still fresh on his hands and Athos' life was at stake. Right there, right then, that bond had tied them together.
So tightly that they couldn't remember anymore a time when they were a trio instead of a quartet, when a little beardless brother wasn't there to pour more wine in their cups, begging them to retell that story about the noblewoman who had developed a crush on Aramis so strong that she had ultimately kidnapped him, forcing Athos and Porthos to go and save him.
When they didn't have to sleep close to each other during those nights when the sky was a storm and the rain fell in buckets, to chase away bloodied nightmares of honest men killed inside a small Inn, just to spend the following days training and training, from dawn to dusk to help a young, wet behind the ears Gascon, to overcome his grief, still so strong after barely a few months.
When they didn't know – or couldn't remember anymore – how sweet it was to look out for a little brother, even if he was a reckless, impetuous, sometimes ill-tempered troublesome of a boy, who could fight as fiercely as a lion to defend their honor and then fall asleep with his head on their shoulders, hand fisted in their shirts that showed his unyielding trust in his brothers.
"We know, D'Artagnan, calm yourself" Aramis assured, moving to grasp lightly his hand, lips curled in a soft, reassuring smile. "But you're going to be a Musketeer soon, so you'll have to learn what we're trying to teach you: head over heart".
"I know" their youngster nodded as strongly as he could, swallowing a hint of remorse. "I'll try harder".
Athos nodded, relaxing his shoulders. "Rest now, you'll feel better once you've slept".
"I'm not tired".
Porthos groaned, trying, and failing, to look stern. "That was an order, whelp!".
"But I feel fine, Porthos, I swear!" their Gascon immediately protested, pouting when a large hand stopped him from leaving his bed.
"D'Artagnan do not force me to become more persuasive" Athos sighed, lips twitching but eyes stern
The youngster huffed, parting his lips to form a retort, obviously unhappy. But then his eyes lingered on his mentor's face, and Aramis grinned widely because, from the look that crossed those brown orbs, their young one probably remembered what their Lieutenant meant by saying 'persuasive'. Therefore, he wasn't surprised when D'Artagnan withdrew, looking for all it's worth like an ill-tempered five-year-old scolded by his father.
"Fine" he growled, crossing his arms and jutting his chin in outrage.
Of course, Porthos was chuckling at the sight, but really, how could a man resist to that childish pout?
"Stop laughing Porthos, it's not funny!"
"Rest, D'Artagnan!"
"But Porthos is teasing me, Aramis!"
"Porthos please" was the sharpshooter plea, accompanied by an amused eye roll
"Sorry Aramis" the man laughed out loud, especially since an aggravated Athos barked a very loud "Children!"
"Ok, ok" the bigger of the foursome relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Maybe I could tell you a fairy tale".
"Porthos!" D'Artagnan snapped, turning his neck so abruptly that his sight clouded and his head protested painfully, eliciting an unsuppressed moan from his lips
"Enough!" Athos barked again, rolling his own eyes and moving to sit beside D'Artagnan to try and keep him still. "Close your eyes and rest, D'Artagnan. Now" he commanded, shooting a stern glare to both his comrades for good measure since they were still trying to stop laughing without success. "Shut up you two… I should gag you all" he muttered, hiding a twitch of his lips.
"Yes sir!" the threesome replied, eliciting another glare from the older Musketeer. Who grunted when, despite their teasing, they grew finally quiet.
Well… for a minute.
"So… you didn't tell us how you declared your love to Constance".
"Aramis!".