CHAPTER 37

Happily, their night went smoothly and without any major interruptions though Athos was still restless and morning's first light found him up and eager to move out. Aramis wasn't convinced it was a good idea. He felt that another day of rest would be prudent. However, their stubborn Comte would not hear of it. Had they not agreed to leave, they had no doubt that Athos would ride out and leave them behind

Porthos, taking over the role of medic-disciplinarian from Aramis for a bit, insisted they break their fast before riding out. When it appeared that Athos was going to bulk at this condition, the large, strong man made it quite clear there would be no deviations from his plan. Athos was not a stupid man and he respected his brother's mind as well as his physical strength. So he acquiesced with only a few dark stares, which were easily ignored. Athos could control a crowd with his intense gaze, but these three weren't a group of strangers; they were his brothers and had no qualms about ignoring him in certain insistences.

As usual when he wasn't feeling one hundred percent, Athos spent most of his time rearranging the food on his plate instead of actually consuming it. But his friends who were more attuned to his maneuvers than he probably realized, quickly noted what he was doing and went on the offensive. The pace at which Athos consumed his food became a direct correlation with the pace at which they ate. This drew out the time it took them to eat their meal to something akin to an eternity.

Chomping at the bit to leave, Athos fumed at the length of time it was taking his brethren to consume a simple meal. Finally, in frustration he blurted out, "Aren't you done yet? By the time we get going it will be nightfall."

The three men looked at each other than at Athos who had risen to his feet with impatience.

Porthos elected himself spokesman for this conversation. He glanced from Athos, to the man's nearly full plate of food on the ground, back to Athos. "Don't look like you're done either."

Porthos nonchalantly began eating again at a turtle-pace, as did the rest of the crew ignoring Athos who waited with impatient exasperation for them to finish. It wasn't much more than a muscle twitch in the aggravated Athos' position, but it didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"Don't even think of it," Porthos growled without needing to look up from his plate. "I have rope and I'm not afraid to use it."

Athos halted his motions, his body's stance now showing the thought that had flickered through his brain, of riding off alone, had been efficiently stomped out by Porthos.

Aramis took pity on Athos who stood there appearing bewildered as to what to do next. So he decided to give him a clue. "It would be much easier to pack up if all the bowls were empty."

Athos' gaze travelled to where his nearly full plate resided on the ground and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But once again, his brethren anticipated his next move and countered it. "Porthos is getting a bit fluffy I think," Aramis mused. "Seems to me I heard Flip groan when Porthos mounted the other day."

Porthos gave a little grunt at Aramis' proclamation around a mouthful of food, which could have been either agreement or bugger off. But it really wasn't relevant to the conversation at hand so Aramis didn't ask for clarification.

"And," d'Artagnan joined in the blockade, "my Da always said it was a sin to waste food."

Getting the message loud and clear, Athos plopped on the grassy ground with a very audible huff, picked up his plate and began to eat. The other three musketeers politely refrained from smiling at their victory and also turned a deaf ear to a few choice mumblings about their characters from their unhappy colleague.

Finally, they got packed, mounted, and on their way in the mid-morning sunshine. Their pace started out sedately, though as the day wore on and Athos proved up to the task of riding they increased their speed, so by nightfall they had reached a small, but neat inn. There was one room left, with two beds, and the Musketeers secured it for the night.

D'Artagnan and Porthos took the horses to the cramped stable, brushed, and settled them for the night. Aramis and Athos took the saddlebags up to the room though the former wondered if his exhausted brother was going to make it up the narrow, steep staircase with the two bags he had insisted upon carrying. The cozy room they had been assigned had two beds, a table, and two chairs.

Dropping the two saddlebags he was shouldering on the floor near the door, Aramis walked over and examined the beds. "They appear clean and bug free," he cheerfully announced though he got no reply from the other man, not that he actually expected he would.

Aramis had a sneaky suspicion it was all Athos could do to remain upright and that any little thing, such as talking, might be the straw that broke the camel's back. Taking pity on his mule-like friend he said, "Why don't you wait here and I'll go see what is on the dinner menu of this fine establishment."

With that, Aramis turned and left the room, closing the door in his wake. He wondered as he wandered downstairs to find the innkeeper where he would find Athos upon his return.

As he was entering the inn's common room, d'Artagnan and Porthos returned from stabling the horses. Aramis prevailed upon them to sit and wait by the non-operating fireplace, while the cook put together a supper basket for them. Each man realized that despite Aramis' claim he needed help this was not about carrying the food upstairs. This was solely about giving their reclusive brother a few minutes of alone time.

The three musketeers put their time to good use betting on what position they would find Athos in upon their return to the room. To be fair to his brothers, Aramis first described the room, its content, and Athos' condition after he climbed the stairs. After establishing the room did not have a window, d'Artagnan and Porthos both went for the bed, while Aramis, banking on their leader's stubborn side, said the chair. If they found Athos in one of the beds, they needed a tie breaking criteria, which they decided would be whether he had his sword and weapons belt on. D'Artagnan was sure his mentor would respect the tools of his trade and carefully divest himself of them before lying down. Porthos laughed at what he felt was the naivety of the whelp assuring the boy that Athos would be sound asleep,on the bed, fully clothed, and with his entire arsenal upon his person.

The only thing left to decide was the prize for being correct and by the time the innkeeper showed up with their food that was also settled. The victor got to name his sleeping arrangements.

They thanked the man for the food and eagerly trotted up the narrow staircase with the tray, basket, bottles, and mugs to their room. Two men groaned and one let out a quiet cheer as their eyes swept the room. The saddlebags, which they hadn't thought to bet on, we're careless dropped by the side of the bed against the far wall. On the bed was the sprawled form of Athos, fully clothed, to include his hat, which was somewhat askew, and with all his weapons intact.

Porthos was incredibly pleased with his win and he unmercifully teased his losing brethren who took it good-naturedly. The food and drink was placed on the lone table in the room before they stared at their sleeping beauty.

"You gonna wake him up to eat?" Porthos asked as he eyed the slumbering man in the bed.

Aramis thought for a few moments then shook his head. "No. He seems to be resting peacefully at the moment. Perhaps it is best if we let sleeping dogs lie, though I think it would be best if we removed a few of his weapons so he doesn't hurt anyone in the middle of the night."

Porthos chuckled remembering one of the first times the three of them had shared a room and catching Aramis' eye the musketeer got him giggling too.

"Want to share?" d'Artagnan asked feeling like the odd man out so Porthos told the tale of their first indoor sleepover.

There had been a few awkward moments that first night sharing a room driven by lack of privacy, personal preferences, and what only could be labeled as personal quirks. There had been one large bed in the room and nothing else. It had been the middle of winter and they had been chilled to the bone by the frigid weather. Their dinner had been barely edible and lukewarm at best. Worse of all, the inn was out of any type of spirits and the new shipment of wine was not due until the morrow. Athos had immediately offered to ride out and look for the delivery wagon but his friends quite firmly vetoed the idea.

By the time they returned to their cold, drafty room, tempers were frayed and personalities disintegrating. They had first debated, a bit heatedly, on whether there was a need to post a guard. There was a significantly sturdy lock on the inner side of the door and they finally agreed it was secure enough not to require one of them to stand guard; and stand it would have been, considering there wasn't a chair in the room and the floor was ice cold.

Next had come the need for their nightly prep and they had eyed the single chamber pot in the room with a certain level of embarrassment. They had all answered the call-of-nature in front of each other on the trail, but never without the privacy of a tree or large bush. The chamber pot stood alone in the corner of the room without the least bit of screening.

Athos had been the one to solve that issue by heading out the door, down the stairs and back out into the frigid winter night. When he returned, he looked relieved, but cold. Having set the precedence, the other two had no choice but to follow suit and take their business outside the inn. Aramis had declared upon returning to their room if he had to pee in the middle of the night, his brethren had better turn their backs and plug their ears because there was no way he was going outside again. Athos had drily suggested he not drink anymore liquids for the night.

The next thing they had tackled was the bed which they knew they were going to have to share it for both comfort and warmth, but in what order? It was jammed up against one wall, so it meant whoever got in first was basically stuck for the night. Aramis immediately declared he had a small, delicate bladder and simply had to sleep in the outside position just in case.

That hadn't sat well with Athos who knew he was a restless sleeper at best and prone to getting up in the middle of the night when the demons from his nightmares plagued him. It was going to be bad enough that his nightmares might wake the other two Musketeers, but crawling over them to exit the bed seemed untenable. Always resourceful, he had walked over to the bed and dragged it away from the wall to the middle of the room so there were now two open sides of the bed.

Athos had immediately declared that he got the newly opened side of the bed, Aramis had held fast to his need to pee claim, leaving Porthos stuck in the middle. However, Porthos had realized that meant he'd have two warm bodies on either side of him, which given the draftiness of the room was going to be a blessing.

There were a few more decisions required before they had been able to climb into the bed. Boots on or off. Two went for off, and one on. Though he didn't know it then, Porthos now knew the two reasons Athos liked to sleep in his boots when on the road. He wasn't one for keeping his stockings well-darned and he liked to hide a small knife in his boot. But boots off had won and the moody musketeer had grudgingly removed his boots exposing his big toe, which had poked thru his stocking and his little knife, which he sheepishly palmed.

For their safety and comfort, they had taken off all their weapons. Aramis had insisted saying he wasn't sewing any of them up in the morning because they were accidentally skewered in the night. Once again, Athos hadn't been thrilled with the idea of being without his weapons and had placed them alongside of the bed, on the floor, within easy reach.

Finally, they had all crawled into the bed, in the prescribed sleeping positions, and settled for the night. The blanket, which was none-to-generous, spent a bit of time in a tug-of-war before they finally got it settled in a somewhat reasonable fashion, though both Aramis and Athos felt a bit of a draft on one side. Porthos, in the middle, was snug as a bug in a rug and was congratulating his wise choice.

They had made it through the midnight hour with no major mishaps other than a stray elbow or two. Aramis had taken to sleeping on his left side facing outwards and contrary to earlier predictions had found no occasion to have to leave the cozy bed. Athos was the mirrored bookend sleeping on his right side with one hand tucked under his pillow. Porthos sprawled on his back in the middle taking up an inordinate amount of mattress real-estate. However, that was better than when he rolled on his side, for then the unfortunate soul on that side would find themselves trapped in his embrace.

The first roll of the night had Porthos cuddling Aramis who in the throes of his own lady dream had not found it all that disturbing. The trouble had begun when Porthos had later rolled to face Athos' back and his long arm had crept over the man. They had learned two additional facts about Athos that night; he was an extremely light sleeper and the hand under his pillow was not cradling his head.

As the sleeping Porthos' arm draped over Athos' chest imprisoning him, all hell broke loose. Athos' right hand flew out from under his pillow wielding a knife, but it was his left hand that delivered the first blow to the Porthos' face. Athos had rolled out of the bed and crouched on the floor, knife ready to defend himself. Porthos had awoken with a roar and his thrashing dumped the unsuspecting Aramis onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

Athos had been the first to recover his wits and realize he wasn't under attack. Sheepishly, he had risen to his feet and his face turned bright red with embarrassment. Luckily, the moonlight in the room wasn't sufficient enough to show his shame to his brethren, but he could feel it. Porthos, sitting upright in the middle of the bed, hair sticking out in multiple directions, was next to recover and Athos had offered him an apologetic shrug.

When Aramis failed to stir from his position on the floor, Athos walked around the bed, Porthos leaned over, and they stared down at him. He was curled in a ball, on the cold hard floor, still sound asleep. Athos had prodded him with his threadbare stocking until the man sleepily opened his eyes and yawned. He was surprised to discover he was on the floor being intently stared at and the knife, which Athos had forgotten he was still holding, was pointed at him.

Eventually, they had gotten to the bottom of the mishap figuring out what had transpired. After employing a few tactical adjustments, they settled down to sleep again with Athos on one side, Aramis in the middle and Porthos on the far side. This way if Porthos got cuddly again Aramis would be the object of his affections, which didn't faze Aramis. This arrangement would save everyone from getting stabbed by Athos. As a further precaution, they banned any sort of weapon in the bed much to Athos' chagrin, though considering how close he had come to stabbing one of his new friends he supposed it was a necessary precaution.

D'Artagnan was chuckling by the time the tale was over as he pictured his three friends in the situation so richly described by Porthos who was an excellent story teller.

"But we are all used to each other now. In fact, Athos is a down right snuggle bunny," Porthos declared, though d'Artagnan had a sneaky suspicion Athos wouldn't concur with that description.

"Well," the youngest musketeer started out. "Based on that tale, gentlemen, I suggest we strip sleeping beauty of all his weapons."

Porthos and Aramis, having five years of experience at handling a potentially lethal sleeping Athos took up their respective positions. On the count of three, they sprang into action. Aramis sat on Athos' legs undoing the myriad of buckles that held weapons belt and baldric in place, while Porthos pinned Athos' arms and hands to his side. Other than being able to bite them, the man was rendered captive and secure. It didn't stop the unfocused green eyes from flying open and desperately scanning about trying to figure out what was occurring. However, other than his glare, which was formidable but not deadly, there was nothing he could do as he was divested of his arsenal.

The two men were efficient and soon they had all dangerous objects removed from Athos' person. Interestingly enough, Athos didn't stay awake after the ordeal but quickly drifted back off to sleep, a testament to his exhaustion.

After phase one was over, Aramis critically eyed Athos again. "It's too hot for him to be sleeping in that much clothing," Aramis stated looking at the leather boots, breeches, and doublet. "And I need to check his wounds to ensure we didn't aggravate any of them. Sit him up again, Porthos."

Undressing a sleeping Athos was also an adventure d'Artagnan learned as his two brethren prepared once again to waylay the man. Their approach this time was slightly different because he was a little less dangerous since they had divested him of all known sharp objects. Porthos raised and braced Athos in a sitting position while Aramis stood one arm's length in front of him.

Leaning forward a little, Aramis lightly slapped Athos on the cheek. "Come on Athos, wake up. We need to undress you and check your wounds."

Aramis immediately ducked back as Athos' right fist swung through the space that a second ago had been occupied by his face. When his fist failed to connect with anything, Athos tousled head lolled to the left as his eyes momentarily opened, spotted his tormentor, and then closed again. "Go away."

Aramis leaned in and tapped on the sleeping man's cheek again and Athos did another swing and a miss. "Are you done yet?" Aramis politely inquired. "Our dinner is getting cold or hot given the weather."

Athos' cracked open his eyes again. "Not hungry."

"Good, because I have no intentions of forcing you to eat."

"Good," Athos declared resoundingly shutting his eyes again.

"But," Aramis went on as he moved closer placing both hands on the tops of Athos' shoulders, "I'm going to check your wounds, which means removing your clothes."

Athos opened his weary eyes again and stared at Aramis. "Do I have a choice?"

Aramis pursed his lips, tilted his head, and glanced over Athos' unruly locks at Porthos who had a big grin on his face. "No," he said refocusing on Athos, "I think not. Either submit quietly or Porthos is going to do to you, what you do to him."

Athos knew exactly to what they were referring and a little shudder ran through his frame. Porthos had a wicked punch and he would prefer not to be on the receiving end of it. "Fine," he grumbled and started to unbutton his leather doublet.

With Athos more or less cooperating, the process went smoothly and by the time that Aramis was ready to check the injured man's wounds, Athos was half asleep again, which made things even easier. The would-be-physician was mostly pleased with only the oldest wound on the lower portion of Athos' torso, causing him a slight concern. But he thoroughly drained, washed, and wrapped the gash, then left Athos alone to sleep in peace.

The rest of their evening was simple in that they ate, played a few hands of cards, debated over the sleeping arrangements, and then went to bed. Porthos and d'Artagnan headed for the one bed, leaving Aramis to bunk with Athos. But when the musketeer saw how peacefully his brother was sleeping, he loathed the thought of disturbing him and decided to sleep in the chair with his feet propped up on the room's other chair.

In the early hours of the morning, Aramis' cramped body woke him with its aches and pains courtesy of his sleeping arrangements. Of all of them, Athos was the one that seemed to have mastered the art of sleeping in a chair, though to be fair he often did it when he was drunk so maybe that didn't count.

Aramis painstakingly stood and as he stretched his eyes roamed the room, which was awash in the early morning light. It only took a second for him to discover that Athos was missing. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw that only Athos' breeches and shirt were missing. His doublet, boots, and most of his weaponry were still on the floor indicating the man hadn't gone far.

Leaving his other two brethren peacefully slumbering, Aramis padded downstairs to look for the missing musketeer, easily spotting him sitting in the deserted common room at a table by the window. Aramis slid into the opposite chair and ran a hand through his unruly morning hair. "Good morning," he said cheerfully.

Athos' eyes slowly wandered to the window to scan the ever lightening sky. "I suppose it is morning." He deliberately didn't comment on the 'good' portion of the statement.

Aramis couldn't help from yawning and he shook his head at the end, trying to ward off the next one. "Been here long?"

Ever the conversationalist, Athos succinctly replied, "Long enough."

Aramis, used to his brother's ways, was not put off in the least by the short, monotone answer. "Two more days and we'll be back in Paris. Bet you can't wait."

Athos gave him a sidling glance before focusing out the window again.

Still not deterred, Aramis foraged onward. "Captain Treville will be relieved to see you as will the rest of the Garrison. For a while, it seemed as if you'd finally got your wish to escape us. But, as the saying goes, Musketeers don't die easily."

Waiting to see if that would illicit a response, Aramis paused in his rhetoric. When no words were forth coming, he picked up his soliloquy. "It is a good thing you are organized and paid your rent in advance. The Captain personally went to ensure your room and things would be waiting for you upon your return."

"I'll be sure to thank him... upon my return," Athos solemnly promised.

Aramis considered that incredibly long sentence as a victory on his part; he was getting Athos to engage and pull out of his solitary mediation. Deciding to go for broke; he reached across the table and laid a hand on Athos' uninjured forearm. "How do you feel?" He noted that Athos didn't flinch under his touch and allowed his hand to remain resting on his arm.

"Tired. Hungry." These two words were addressed to the window before he moved his gaze to focus on Aramis. "Aching. Restless."

Both men knew that was a rare moment of complete honesty on Athos' part.

"Well, the first three are fairly easy to solve. There are still a few hours of sleep to be had upstairs as well as a few scraps leftover from the dinner you missed. I have willow bark in my saddlebags and can brew you a tea to help with the aches."

Aramis paused then reached out and gently cupped Athos' bearded chin forcing the man to remain focused on him. "The last one I can only help with if you tell me what is making you restless." He dropped his hand back to the table, leaned back in his chair, and serenely waited.

Athos' serious, yet slightly distressed, green eyes searched Aramis' face, desperately looking for something. Aramis did his best to keep his expression nonjudgmental and sincere.

Swallowing hard, Athos tore his gaze away to the window again. "Well, if we are to get anymore sleep, we'd best get at it." Slowly, he rose from his chair and headed towards the stairs, refusing to meet Aramis' eyes again.

With a sigh, Aramis rose and trailed along behind. Once in the room, Athos crawled back into the bed and Aramis, foregoing the chair, joined him forcing Athos to scoot over and make room. As they settled in, Aramis reached over and laid a gentle hand on Athos' shoulder and sincerely said, "When you are ready I will listen without judgment. Nothing will ever break our bond, brother."

With that, Aramis rolled over, shut his eyes, and prayed the message got through to the suffering man beside him who was so close, yet so far away.