Hello all! Very long time, no see, but I am back with another Musketeers story! I don't even know if the fandom is still alive and kicking anymore, but I started writing this one a couple of years ago and just revisited it now. Bit of a trigger warning- this just sort of poured out of me during a pretty dark time, which I think is why I couldn't continue it for a while. But lockdown got my creative juices flowing again and I wanted to finish and post it, even if no one read it! But yes, this is a trigger warning for mentionings of depression and anxiety from the start- please don't read if you think this may trigger you!
D'artagnan hadn't quite been feeling himself for a while.
The world had darkened slightly. There wasn't any reason for this shift; he and Constance were happy, training was going well, his fellow Musketeers supported him, and he knew they always had his back. He had never felt more loved, and knew he was in the right place.
Yet something wasn't right. Things which once brought him happiness left him cold. Motivation to get up and train in the morning was an effort, and even the most simple tasks like sharing a meal with his brothers left him exhausted. The pretence of being his usual self, when he could barely remember who that person was, was enough to send him to bed early every night, using the excuse that daily training and orders had tired him out. His brothers seemed to buy it; something which D'artagnan wasn't sure if he appreciated or was disappointed by. Realistically, he believed it was just a mood which would pass. He was glad his brothers did not see his weakness, but sometimes he yearned for someone to simply ask if he was alright. Constance was busy with her duties in the Garrison; in truth, between his duties and hers, he barely saw her. However, the time they spent together was as blissfully happy as the day they fell in love.
So, what on Earth was the matter with him?
THE MUSKETEERS
Athos saw more than anyone gave him credit for. A man of few words, the swordsman preferred to watch than participate in the usual banter which flowed between his brothers. He had quietly observed as D'artagnan seamlessly fit into their threesome, his sharp wit and fearless dedication slotting in with the group perfectly. He had seen how D'artagnan eagerly lept at every opportunity to be with the men and inwardly smiled every time the lad basked under any praise sent in his direction. Yet, Athos had picked up that something had changed in D'artagnan, something which brought back memories which he would rather forget.
D'artagnan had begun to withdraw from the group. Outwardly, everything seemed fine; it was impossible that any of the other Musketeers would have noticed anything, and Athos doubted that even Porthos and Aramis had noticed a difference. A few months ago, the foolish Gascon would have fallen asleep over his cards before he had gone to bed before the other men, yet practically every night he now claimed exhaustion and headed off to bed early. This was not suspicious in itself; seeing his raw talent, Treville had been pushing D'artagnan with his training to levels which Athos had not seen since his own first year in the Garrison. It was the behaviour which accompanied the early nights that truly concerned Athos.
D'artagnan would still eat his meals with them, but his behaviour was almost too perfect. He would still laugh and banter with Porthos and Aramis, but his actions were almost like a marionette on a string; an insult would be thrown his way, and he would laugh and throw one back. However, he never volunteered information or started conversations, nor would he speak unless directly spoken to. Athos had seen him a few times whenever a conversation died down; he looked unspeakably uncomfortable, like he wanted to be anywhere other than the men's company at that moment. This was a complete change to the lad who would not be quiet for love nor money when he first entered the threesome. Athos had also caught him pacing around the courtyard at night on his way back from the Tavern; the boy clearly wasn't sleeping properly, despite his protests of exhaustion.
A theory was starting to form in Athos' mind, but he wanted to be certain. There was only one way to go about this; he was going to have to confront D'artagnan. Athos wasn't big on talking about feelings, but if he was correct, D'artagnan would need someone to speak to. Athos saw a lot of himself in the Gascon; the last thing he wanted was for him to go down the same path Athos had.
THE MUSKETEERS
A new day had dawned the same way they all did. D'artagnan had pulled himself from his bed after another restless night, noticed that Constance had already gone on a supplies run, and had headed down to the courtyard to get some early morning practice before the rest of the Garrison awoke. Early morning was D'artagnan's favourite time to train as it was blissfully quiet; there were no Musketeers around to judge his poor technique, or how ridiculous he knew he looked with the large main gauche he was currently fighting with. Everything was remarkably quiet, both inside his head and outside, as he allowed his instincts to take over and his body to move in the way his brothers had taught him. He wasn't happy per say, but this was the time of day where everything felt quiet.
That was until he saw the dark figure leaned up against a pillar by their table.
Internally D'artagnan froze at the sight of Athos watching him. He was used to the swordsman coaching him from that spot every day, but Athos was never up this early; he must have done something wrong for Athos to have risen to speak to him before the Garrison awoke. D'artagnan shoved the unwelcome yet always present negative thoughts to the back of his mind and pushed up the regular shield as his face relaxed into an easy smile.
"Athos!" he exclaimed. "I'm shocked to see you up so early, did you actually manage to avoid the lure of wine last night?"
A wry smile flashed across Athos' face.
"D'artagnan, has it never occured to you that maybe I am just better at holding my liquor than you?"
"I am not sure that is anything to brag about, practice in that field is frowned upon in my eyes" D'artagnan replied cheekily, earning a scowl from Athos.
"I'm not here to discuss my drinking habits with you D'artagnan, I just wanted to catch you alone for a quick talk" he said, crossing the courtyard so he stood directly opposite the Gascon.
It took everything for D'artagnan not to flinch away as his insides turned to ice. He had definitely done something wrong; Athos hated him, he was going to throw him out of the Musketeers and send him back to Gascony. However, months of practice allowed D'artagnan to smooth his face into a slightly quizzical expression as he looked at Athos.
"Go ahead" he said, keeping his voice low to stop it from shaking.
"I just wished to make sure everything was alright with you." Athos began somewhat awkwardly, his eyes not quite meeting D'artagnan's.
"I have noticed that you have been rather quiet recently; if there is anything on your mind I wish to remind you that we are your brothers in more than just words. We protect each other in more ways than just on the battlefield; this job can be rather taxing on the mind as well as the body."
D'artagnan stared warily at Athos, unsure of how to respond. He had wished for a while for someone to notice that he was struggling, yet now it happened he did not know what to say. The ready reply sprung to his lips.
"I'm fine" he smiled, simultaneously hoping Athos left him alone and pushed further.
Athos seemed to have the same conundrum as he hesitated before continuing.
"We are sworn brothers within the Musketeers. Yes, that means having each other's backs on the battlefield, but it also means sharing how we are feeling. I'm very aware that I'm not the best at this, nor am I the easiest to confide in- but if you do ever need to talk, you may speak to me, or Aramis, or Porthos."
D'artagnan was shocked at the little speech. He had thought he was doing an excellent job at hiding his emotions; after all, he was being pathetic- his father's death was far enough in the past that it shouldn't be affecting him anymore, and his life was better than he could have dreamed of a few years ago, so there was no need for him to trouble his brothers with issues that didn't even exist. His resolve hardened as he looked Athos square in the eyes and smiled.
"I am fine, but I appreciate your words. If I ever have any issues, I know I can speak to you."
The shadow in his heart grew as the smile widened.
THE MUSKETEERS
Athos was not convinced, but he knew not to push D'artagnan.
The lad had seen and done things in the past few years which few men had ever seen and done; it would not be surprising if these had a lasting effect on him. A lot of the men in the Garrison had suffered from nightmares and changed personalities from their duties over the years. Yet Athos knew that sometimes there was no external factor which led to the behaviours D'artagnan was experiencing. His personal experience with his demons was kick-started by Milady and the loss of Thomas, yet even once the pain of these events began to heal, he still struggled with melancholic thoughts. Alcohol had been Athos' comfort in those times, but ironically it was the coming of D'artagnan which gave him a purpose stronger than the pull of the bottle. His brothers may joke that he drank too much, but Athos knew Porthos and Aramis could attest to the fact that his drinking was much better than they had ever seen.
He could not see D'artagnan travel down the same path he had gone down. The warning signs were already there; it was simply because Athos had been through something similar that he had caught them so early. The withdrawal, the denial, the sleeplessness; D'artagnan may have been good at hiding it, but Athos knew the lad too well to buy it. Yet, if he pushed too hard, he knew D'artagnan would clam up and be less likely to share his issues.
Instead, Athos returned to more familiar territory. "Shall we spar, since we are both up at this unsightly hour?"
D'artagnan's face relaxed into a grin. "I hope you're prepared to end up on the floor" he jibed, playing Athos at his own game of raising emotion in the hope of making him drop his guard. Unfortunately, Athos knew what he was doing, having taught D'artagnan that trick himself.
"In your dreams" he responded, drawing his main gauche and going for a strike, which D'artagnan deftly parried.
The two continued to spar for what felt like minutes, but as the time flew by Athos saw D'artagnan's fighting style change. He became more defensive and hardly seemed to notice the opportunities Athos was handing to him. After a particularly clumsy strike in which Athos narrowly avoided cutting the Gascon's arm, Athos calmly suggested they stopped for breakfast.
D'artagnan nodded gratefully, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes and glancing around the courtyard. Following his gaze, Athos noticed the Garrison, which was empty when they began sparring, was now full of soldiers training, eating breakfast and beginning their daily duties.
Something clicked in Athos' head. D'artagnan may be good at training his social interactions to relay a positive mindset, but fighting was more instinctual. The fact that the Gascon had switched to the defensive the moment people entered the Garrison spoke volumes to Athos about his unconscious mind. He silently stored this information for later; it would do no good to continue the conversation now.