CHAPTER 38

The next morning found them hitting the road a bit later than normal. When Porthos and d'Artagnan woke and saw their companions were still asleep in the same bed without any undue signs of duress, they quietly slipped from the room to seek breakfast. When they returned with a tray of food to include some heavenly smelling fresh baked bread, Aramis roused and after a series of orchestrated stretches punctuated by the occasional groan, he joined them in their repast.

After combing a hand thru with messy hair, giving it a fluff and then a pat, which really did nothing for it, Aramis joined d'Artagnan and Porthos at the table. He had to stand as he munched on his piece of roll given the bare-bones room only had two chairs. He was his usual chirpy, disgustingly cheerful morning self, which never ceased to both amaze and annoy his companions. Even after a hard night of drinking, Aramis could awake the next morn and quickly find goodness in the world.

Also awake, but sitting on the bed was the anti-Aramis, who ran a hand through his messy hair. But while Aramis' goal had been to try to make himself presentable, Athos' only aim was to get his wayward waves out of his eyes. Bleary-eyedly, he peered about the room to determine what his brothers were doing.

Cheerful was certainly not the word to describe Athos' morning demeanor; sullen was the adjective that came to mind. His companions had learned it was best to leave Athos alone and let him come into the morning on his own terms. Help would not be welcome or appreciated and could be downright dangerous for the health of the offer.

Though Athos, especially after a night of heavy drinking, often looked like a train wreck, there was one thing for sure, he was always dangerous. They had all seen him hungover, retching in a bucket, barely able to stand and if threatened, within the blink of an eye had his poor attacker at sword point. It wasn't elegant, but even at his worse Athos was better than most. So his brethren had learned to give him his space in the morning to avoid any undue unpleasantness.

Athos sat on the side of the bed, feet flat on the floor, hands slack in his lap with his head bowed. D'Artagnan, deciding to brave the lion's den, grabbed a fresh, baked roll from the basket, stood and cautiously approached Athos. Holding the bread out at arm's length like a peace offering, he waved it close to Athos' downcast face. After a moment by which time the lovely smell had to have reached Athos' olfactory receptors, a hand slowly reached out and accepted the proffered roll. With a small triumphant smile, the lad returned to the table to continue on his own repast.

A few bites of the roll disappeared before Athos' tousled head lifted and his green eyes cautiously greeted his surroundings. In the normal world, it would have been customary to offer a greeting and inquire as to ones well-being but Athos was anything but normal when it came to certain social morning conventions. They had all wondered if, as a child, he had been as grumpy in the morning or if this was a more adult induced behavior. Again, having learned from past experience that pleasant morning repartee would not be forthcoming, the three musketeers did what they always did ignored Athos until he chose to engage them.

Finally, the sullen musketeer stood and stretched with Aramis observing from the corner of his eye in an attempted to assess how the man was feeling this morning without directly asking. The grimaces that kept appearing on Athos' bearded face told him pretty much everything he needed to know; the man was sore.

When Athos wandered in the general direction of the table, Aramis innocently asked, "Thirsty? I could brew you a quick cup of tea."

Both men knew that tea would contain willow bark. Athos eyes narrowed, telling Aramis the message had been received but not appreciated. However, the courtly man responded in a neutral voice, "No. Thank you. Water is fine."

The words were delivered in the same cadence and timbre that Athos had used when addressing the Queen when she had asked him if he would like some more of the fish she had cooked. To be honest, 'cook' wasn't quite the right word to describe the Queen's effort. Destroyed, decimated, charred, burnt, massacre where all more accurate terms. Apparently, Aramis' offer of a painkiller wasn't anymore appreciated then the Queen's offer of seconds of her cooking.

Porthos silently handed him a mug of water, which Athos swiftly downed before placing the mug on the table and walking back to where his clothes and weapons lay on the floor. Dressing, buckling on his weapons, and lastly shoving his hat on his head, he turned and looked expectantly at his fellow Musketeers, his expression clearly showed he was wondering why they were still sitting at the table leisurely enjoying their food. With a small dissatisfied grunt in their direction, he strode to the door and flung it open. "I'll be with the horses...waiting...when you are done." The door slammed resolutely behind him as he exited the room.

"I guess he is ready to go," Aramis said evenhandedly as he unhurriedly reached for another roll.

D'Artagnan eyed the still vibrating door before turning back to his companions. "Will he actually wait? Or take off without us."

That statement gave them all pause as the boy had a valid point. Porthos rose from the table, brushing a few stray crumbs from his doublet. "I'm done. I'll go babysit him."

"There. That's settled," Aramis happily declared as he reached for a small jar of preserves. "Let us finish our meal in a civilized manner." he said as he spread the condiment on his roll before taking a satisfying bite. "For a Comte, he does seem to be lacking in social graces at times, doesn't he."

A little while later d'Artagnan asked Aramis, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," he said as he rose and brushed a few crumble aside.

Athos was sitting on his horse waiting for them. Their horses were also saddled and standing in the courtyard. The expression on Porthos' face clearly indicated whatever had happened outside, while they were finishing their breakfast, hadn't amused the street-smart musketeer.

"I thought perhaps the two of you got lost," Athos commented on their tardiness. Without waiting for a reply, he rode off trusting his brothers to catch up.