CHAPITRE 3
D'Artagnan nodded obediently to Aramis strict instructions and basked in the love of his brothers. It felt like a mountain on his ribs had finally been shattered to dust, he could now breathe. So this is what love of brothers and family means? Philia. Storge. Relief and happiness settled into his bones.
APPROXIMATELY 15 MONTHS AGO
"d'Artagnan!" A cheery voice rang out against a backdrop of smoke-induced hazy black sky and twinkling stars dancing above the ragged Parisian homes. The man in question stopped short of his evening meandering and turned slowly, he'd know that Spanish infused French voice anywhere. Dead or alive. It was Aramis' voice cutting through the intense cold spell currently laying siege to the city. He shivered under the blue cape and waited for more words to come after his name.
"Finally found you! Don't go back yet. The night is still young." He belted out again, giving in a quick sprint to meet up his comrade. "Come! Enjoy your evening freezing your face off later. Let's get out of this blasted weather. The others are already there. I bet Porthos has cheated his way through two hands already. Granted he has a terrible vice, but it's giving us a little extra jingle to enjoy the good bottles."
Aramis turned in a familiar direction to the one tavern the foursome called their home away from home.
"Of course you would say that about Porthos and his favourite sport. Cheating. I even wager Athos has already downed his first bottle sans food." he commented back, shaking his head lightheartedly. D'Artagnan happily bounded after the older one. Time spent in the company of his favourite three made his evenings pleasant even though he always likes a little solitude every evening. It helped to keep him grounded and remember what was important each day.
True to Aramis' words, the two musketeers found their friends just as wagered. Porthos was immensely content being surrounded with a purse full of coins and cards and a full bottle of his particularly favourite taste. Athos however was slumped so far under that his shoulders were levelling with the table, nursing an empty bottle in each hand, his hat pulled low hiding his emotionless expressions. Brooding sod. Wallowing over a woman. His woman. His wife, though very much alive and well, the grief she had caused wouldn't so readily be healed.
Aramis knew his pain and pitied the sorry chap. Adele. Isabelle. May they rest in peace. He never stopped Athos from drinking, merely made sure the grown child didn't hurt himself whilst inebriated or lose his head at the bottom of the bottle.
To each their own...odd how short-lived happiness comes in different forms. Cards. Wine. Women.
"Well see what da cat dragged in!" Porthos boomed as he caught sight of d'Artagnan on the heels of Aramis. "Come! I 'ave tricks to teach this young'un. Athos get some food for us, will ya?" The senior obliged without fuss seeing Aramis was already smitten with two barmaids. Aramis and women. He rolled his eyes. Nothing never changes with that man.
"Nay lad. Like 'is. You gotta flip the card like 'is, then 'old the second one like that." Porthos demonstrated this newest sleight of hand to his captive audience, who proved to be a quick learner. "Ya, das it! Now do it again a few more times before we go try it out on those tables there. Reckon they'd be good practise for ya."
Meanwhile Athos had returned to lounging in that awkward uncomfortable position, leant over to Aramis and said under his breath in between bites of food, "Do you think we should be letting d'Artagnan fall into this kind of corruption? Dishonesty, cheating and all the messy bits?"
"Well," Aramis eased into his chair indifferently, propped his boots up on a nearby stool and took a swig of his favourite wine. "It's far better than your vice that much I'll say. I don't think the kid would make for a good brooding drunkard. He's too full of life for that just yet." He eyed the third bottle nearly dried out.
The lieutenant returned the jest with his signature mark. A scowl and eye roll. He knew nothing annoyed Aramis more than speaking about his string of romantic antics and wanted to rile up the marksman from time to time.
Athos retorted back indignantly, suddenly shooting straight up, effectively sending Aramis flaying like a fish out of water trying to restore his balance. "You're a sure one to speak, I could say the same to you! What's a little too much wine compared to women, hmm? After all, your endearing scantily dressed vices leave you hanging precariously out of second storey window sills in a rather compromised state, or running away with your tail between your legs. Quite dangerous. I don't want the boy's life put on the line like that. I won't permit harm to the lad if I can prevent it. Wine is safer than women." He mostly uttered the last line under his breath as a weak consolation for himself, but Aramis heard him all the same.
"As you say, my friend. Say what you will but someday it'll most likely be Porthos' street tricks that'll save our sorry hide one day, bluffing through card games included. Then, our little spitfire's youthful energy would take us to safety after Porthos conned our way out of the mess."
A grunted huff was the only acknowledgement Athos managed for he couldn't bear the thought of his three dearest brothers coming to serious harm. It made his stomach sit uneasy. Was it the overindulgence of wine or a gut feeling?
Unknowingly, Aramis somehow managed to always speak such pointed words without realising how deep his implications would carry.
After a couple more hours passed and several hands later, the four felt satisfied and relaxed. Athos stopped brooding, eventually. Aramis stopped flirting, briefly. Porthos and d'Artagnan returned from the various tables, but not before drying out their opponents purses and wine bottles.
"Why can't all our missions be this simple?" Aramis lamented drunkenly into his half empty wine bottle. He was no lightweight, but two bottles brought out his true feelings.
This implications ran deeper than his first comment, a deadly countdown had been set. A fuse lit and sparks would soon follow.
"Because then you would be bored," Athos instantly shot back matter-of-factly despite being now five bottles deep.
Porthos cut in adding in his two-bits with food still in his mouth. "And we all know a bored Aramis is a dangerous thing. 'ere was that one incident with a Queen, a convent, mercenaries..." he trailed off with a pointed look to the accused one.
D'Artagnan simply observed his seniors banter about, it was sights like these he enjoyed most.
The offended man sulked a little at the barb and tried to hide his embarrassment behind a gulp of wine. Aramis and Athos exchanged a whole conversation about that incident with just a few twitches in their eyes. Although that sordid affair itself was a horrendous and violent chaos, it finally simmered to a storm in a teacup. No one was more thankful than the father.
Skilfully redirecting the attention away from himself, Aramis commented on the radiant beauty of all the ladies he saw in the Palace earlier today. Athos groaned at having to sit through a second spiel of it.
Their orders for the day had consisted of a simple task; provide an armed escort for the Queen's distant cousin who was to be pawned off into another marriage alliance between their two countries. Using lives in bartering for peace was always a touchy subject, but the King's Musketeers upheld their duty with honour. It was the least they could do considering all the stakes at risk.
Thankfully the journey didn't involve any bloodshed, raucous fighting, or being held captive by the insane. By some miracle, they avoided any sour interactions with the Red Guards, that perhaps was the best part of the whole day. No one hated those dressed up pompous street rats more than the Musketeers, forever to be at odds with them.
Safely delivering all the royals to the Palace, the four quickly bowed out before the King could notice their missing presence amongst the crowd of nobles and hordes of military men stationed all around the inner courtyard. As of late their monarch had a great fear of his personal safety everytime he set foot out of his chambers.
Their loyalty to king and country was second to none and the whole of France knew, but what they didn't know was standing in the grand hall with their monarch prattling on and on about his endless wants and demands like a petulant child grated on their nerves daily, any chance to escape was always a welcomed respite.
Upon their silent escape from that decorated prison lavished in gold and finner ornaments, they each went their own way. His brothers knew by that one special look in the youngster's eyes there would be no guessing where his time would be spent.
D'Artagnan took off to the Garrison stables as fast as possible, it was his escape from reality. He was known by all in the regiment to spend countless hours grooming his beloved steed and ruminating over his late father's final words before they left their small world in Lupiac. Never to return. His faithful steed and specially crafted steel was all he had left of his father's effects.
"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn patois of which Henry IV could never rid himself, "this horse was born in the house of your father about thirteen years ago, and has remained in it ever since, which ought to make you love it. Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if you make a campaign with it, take as much care of it as you would of an old servant." *see note*
He found relief and a sense of comfort holding on to his tangible past. A country lad he still was at heart despite holding one of the most coveted titles both nobles and commoners could only want for.
King's Musketeers no less.
He felt closest to his father's memory when in the stables, but only two youngsters were privy to that private knowledge. The young stable hand twins Grégoire and Guillaume had come to adore their senior horsemen and constantly fought for his affection and attention.
In return for their eagerness, d'Artagnan taught them all he knew about farm life and secret ways with animals. He was pleased to pass on his father's knowledge knowing it would be well served to the future generations.
The young musketeer's first rate horsemanship skills was a bar many hopes to aim for someday. Many cadets openly asked for tips and tricks while others were too proud to ask and simply waited for the news to trickle into their supper time conversations with comrades. Unbeknownst to them, all the men came to respect d'Artagnan's way with horses even if they didn't always respect him for his young age. Even Captain Treville made fine use of his newest soldier's talents to good work, a talent like his was too good to go unused.
Another two hours passed before collectively deciding they should head back. With the Garrison apartments being much closer than their own private lodgings, they slowly stumbled ungracefully through the garrison gates. Aramis and Porthos totter in supporting each other with as much grace they could muster in their wine-infused brains. Athos and his junior on the other hand, sauntered in comparatively better poised than the former two, but still swaying noticeably.
With any chance of goodness, Treville would have already turned in for the night and not need to witness his four finest of the regiment act like foolish cadets still wet behind the ears. At least it would save them a good dressing down from the superior and keep their pride from bruising if they could escape their captain's wrath.
If only Aramis hadn't uttered those fateful words. Perhaps he didn't pay heed to his lessons from the previous time out in the forest as a bodyguard of the Queen. The sun set that night with the distinct smell of a lit fuse.
...I'm bored. I miss Paris. The excitement, the noise. The danger...
The sun rose early in the morning, melting away the night and taking the snow with it. It was just Monday. A typical Monday. Cold. Windy. Dreary. Typical.
The day started out as normal as it always did.
Stretched out as mundanely as one would expect...
Wake.
Dress.
Eat.
Receive orders.
...and then it took a horribly perilous turn in the most unexpected manner; and this time the perils superseded any of the four's wildest imaginations.
Whatever fears the Musketeers might have buried deep behind their bravery, pride or honour, all came to face the blinding lights of truth and realisation in this singular mission. No one could have foreseen the horrors, dangers, or repercussions; Athos' pained gut was right, it wasn't the abundance of wine churning.
The ominous countdown started when Athos received a summons into the captain's office right after breakfast. Still bearing the remnants of a blinding hangover, Athos stood ramrod straight listening to the details of the newest mission whilst diligently ignoring his headache. By courtesy of the King, his favourite four were commissioned on a particular journey between the borders of France and Spain. Perilous no doubt, but not impossible.
If only Captain Treville had known of all the dangers, he would have moved heaven and earth to ensure the safety of his sons. Yes, his sons. A father worried sick about his sons. If only the Unbreakable Four had foreseen the dangers awaiting them past the safety of the Garrison gates they would have had time for a better plan.
'If only' was the saddest of all laments and 'what if' held the greatest of hopes.
If only it never happened. What if it never happened.
A-N: Direct quote from Three Musketeers Chapter 1 "THE THREE PRESENTS OF D'ARTAGNAN THE ELDER".
Please take kindly to this chapter and enjoy!
Bookmark/subscribe Follow/Favorite for chapter notifications! Happy reading fellow ones and I'll see you in the next installment!
This story is updated to Chapter 11 on AO3- if you'd like to read ahead. I'm slowly adding in chapters one at a time for both places.