A/N: Thank you Haro kzoids, pallysAramisRios, SnidgetHex, and Guest for reviewing!

Summary: The first overtures of friendship between Porthos and Aramis.

Pre-series

"Stepping Stones"

Porthos was a musketeer. It was still difficult to fathom sometimes. The regiment was fairly new, having been established only two years ago, but it had a renowned reputation already and it was an honor to be commissioned among their number. Porthos flicked his gaze across the yard toward where the elite dragon riders were congregated. He'd been captivated when he first encountered them on the battlefield. Before that, his sparse experience with the creatures were when they were on the enemy's side. Seeing them swooping down, with men on their backs no less, to come to the rescue of the French infantry had been quite the sight. So when Captain Treville approached Porthos to recruit him personally, he couldn't say no. But now that he was here, he had a lot of work to do. Dragons aside, the Musketeer regiment was different than the infantry. Starting with the horse Porthos was currently staring down.

The black Friesian side-eyed him with equal wariness. Porthos had gotten its tack and saddle on and brought it outside so he could attempt to ride it, but so far the beast was proving uncooperative.

He gripped the saddle pommel with one hand and the back rim with the other, then lifted his foot to set in the stirrup. The horse shifted, and Porthos immediately aborted the attempt, taking a couple of steps back and watching the animal guardedly lest he get kicked for his trouble. The horse chuffed, and Porthos scowled. He had just as much experience with horses as he did with dragons. He'd never ridden one when part of the infantry, and the only thing closest to the four-legged beast in the Court of Miracles where he grew up were haggard cart mules. A far cry from these finely bred, tall and majestic creatures. If only it would stand still.

Porthos took a breath and stepped forward to try again, and again the horse shied away the moment he gripped the saddle. Some cavalry horse.

He spotted one of the dragon rider musketeers making his way over, and Porthos automatically stiffened in expectation of getting ribbed for his incompetence.

"Hey there," the man greeted. He looked to be the youngest in the entire regiment, and yet Porthos knew he was one of the first to be commissioned, hand-picked by the captain. Aramis, he remembered his name was.

Porthos nodded a gruff acknowledgement, keeping his gaze down as Aramis came around the side of the horse and gave the animal a pat on the neck.

"The saddle isn't tight enough," he said. "It moves when you try to climb up, which is why the horse is uncomfortable." Aramis reached to undo the strap, tightening it by another notch.

"I didn't want to make it too tight," Porthos muttered defensively.

"You don't have to worry about that," Aramis replied easily. "The saddles are fitted. Give it a feel."

Porthos shuffled forward and gave the saddle a tug, feeling along the strap and trying to fit his fingers between the leather and the horse's side. He couldn't; the saddle was secure. "Thanks," he said, feeling like a dunce.

"We haven't been formally introduced," the Musketeer dragon rider said as he casually moved back to take hold of the horse's bridle. "I'm Aramis."

"Porthos."

With Aramis nonchalantly holding the horse steady, Porthos figured he should try to climb up into the saddle. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the edges again and placed his foot in the stirrup. The horse didn't move this time as Porthos swung up and plopped himself down. Now that he was up there, though, he felt very uncomfortable.

"First time on a horse?" Aramis guessed.

"I was part of the infantry," Porthos replied, defensiveness creeping up again. "We didn't ride horses."

Aramis, however, didn't seem to take offense to Porthos's demeanor and merely smiled at the Friesian and gave its neck another fond pat.

"A gentle hand is all that's needed."

He stepped away, and Porthos could either sit up there stupidly or try to get the horse moving. So he gave the animal a kick and walked it around the yard, his cheeks warming as Aramis stood there, watching.

"See? You're a natural."

Porthos couldn't detect any hints of patronizing, so he tried to relax as he got used to the movement of the horse.

Then a dragon flew overhead, startling him out of his concentration, and he reflexively pulled back on the reins sharply. The horse skittered backwards and started to rear up, which made Porthos cling to the reins tighter.

"Whoa!" Aramis rushed over and snagged the horse's bridle, bringing it down to all fours and soothing it.

Porthos hastily slid off the saddle while he had the chance.

The horse calmed easily under Aramis's hand.

"You probably didn't have much interaction with dragons in the infantry either," Aramis commented, glancing sympathetically at Porthos.

He huffed. "Not unless they were the enemy."

Aramis continued to stroke the Friesian's neck. "Musketeer horses are conditioned to tolerate the presence of dragons." He flashed Porthos a smile. "You'll get used to them too. Might even be paired with one someday."

Porthos snorted. "I doubt it. Can't even ride a horse yet."

"Nonsense, you just did," Aramis replied. "With practice, it will eventually become second nature." He canted his head thoughtfully then. "Have you met a dragon up close?"

Porthos tensed at the question. "Erm, not really." He didn't like the look Aramis got in his eyes just then, and the rider turned and let out a sharp whistle.

Across the yard, a green dragon lifted its head and then started making its way over to them. Porthos shifted nervously, but he didn't want to appear cowardly, so he held his ground. If the damn horse could manage to not bolt in the face of a dragon, so could he.

"Porthos, this is Grettir," Aramis introduced. "Grettir, this is Porthos. He's new to the regiment."

The dragon blinked docilely at him, but Porthos wasn't fooled. There was a row of teeth behind that maw.

"You can pet her," Aramis prompted. "She's rather greedy when it comes to scratches under the chin. Like a cat."

The dragon made a gurgling noise at that, to which Aramis reached under her chin and began to scratch. Grettir closed her eyes and made a vibrating sound in her throat that seemed like pleasure.

"See?" Aramis said. "You are a cat."

Without opening her eyes or removing her head from those scratches, the dragon flicked her wing to slap Aramis upside the head. He merely laughed and turned to Porthos.

"Go on," he egged.

Porthos fidgeted in extreme discomfort as he shuffled forward cautiously, then reached out to touch the dragon from the side, away from those powerful jaws. She gave him a softer look than she did her rider and didn't try to hit him with her wing or bite his hand off, so that was good.

"Aramis!" another dragon rider musketeer called from across the yard. "You coming?"

Aramis waved back in acknowledgement. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Porthos," he said before heading off to rejoin his friends. Grettir followed.

Dragon riders probably didn't mix much with ground rank musketeers, not that many people willingly mixed with Porthos anyway. His skin color and slum upbringing was off-putting to a lot of people. Still, Aramis had been friendly enough during that brief encounter, and his tips about the horses would be useful.

Porthos continued working with the animals in his spare time, trying to get comfortable riding them. He was getting the hang of walking around the yard and not letting the occasional dragon startle him.

Then one day as he went into the stables to saddle a horse for more practice, Aramis followed him in and went to saddle his own mount.

"How about a ride outside the garrison today?" the other musketeer suggested.

Porthos paused, glancing around to make sure Aramis was talking to him. When it seemed he was, Porthos then hesitated at the idea, but again he didn't want to appear cowardly, so he reluctantly agreed and set about saddling his steed.

They guided their horses by hand across the yard toward the back gate that opened into the countryside outside the city limits.

Aramis's dragon trilled at him from outside her den.

"Don't be jealous," he called back teasingly.

Grettir snorted and rolled her eyes.

Porthos found her and Aramis's interactions puzzling. Dragons definitely seemed like more than just dumb beasts, and though they didn't communicate verbally, Aramis had no trouble reading his dragon's expressions. Porthos was oddly envious of the ability.

The two musketeers led their horses through the gate, then mounted up and nudged them into a canter. Just when Porthos had been getting the hang of riding, the increased pace threw him for a loop again. But Aramis called out tips as they went—how to move his own body with the lope so it was less jerky, how to lean back or forward depending on the slope of the terrain. And all of it was delivered casually, without a hint of condescension or long-suffering burden that Porthos didn't already know these things.

"Thanks," Porthos told him as they finally headed back.

Aramis just tossed that debonair grin at him. "First you master the horse, then a dragon."

Porthos shook his head dubiously. "That's a lofty goal."

"That doesn't make it unattainable," Aramis countered, and he said it with such sincerity that Porthos did start to believe him. After all, look how far he'd come on his own already: from the slums of Paris to the King's Musketeers. Porthos had already made so much of himself; why not more?

He tried to imagine himself as a dragon rider. Yeah, he still had a lot of work ahead, not the least of which was getting over being skittish around the creatures.

But Porthos found he was beginning to like the idea.