"You sure about this?" Porthos asked. He shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. The request had come as a surprise and he wasn't sure how to manage it. Porthos had always thought that Aramis would be asked first. Not only was he a couple of years older, but in the grand scheme of things, he had more experience. But Porthos stood, being asked to temporarily captain the musketeers' regiment while Captain Athos was away. Perhaps it was only for a few days, but the request itself was enough to cause Porthos' heart to skip a beat and his chest to swell. "Aramis has more —"
"Aramis is an excellent soldier, Porthos, but he thinks with his heart — not his head."
Porthos quirked a subtle smile. Athos was right.
Athos looked toward him and said, "It's just a few days, but I need someone to oversee the men until I return." He stood behind his desk, organized the call sheets, duty rosters, inventory lists, and off duty schedules for his men. "War will soon knock on our door… it's time we all realized it and face the fact that our stay at the garrison will only be temporary."
"You'll think we'll be sent out… Musketeers, only a 125 men strong?"
Athos bit the inside of his bottom lip. "King Louis has requested additional men be added to the roster… He wants the Musketeer regiment increased to 300 men… But, no matter how good we are — that will not be enough to make a significant impact when our enemy is 275,000 strong."
Porthos exhaled through puffed cheeks and shook his head. "That many?"
"Conservatively, yes."
There was a long pause before Porthos cleared his throat and said, "How soon do you think we'll be asked to move to the lines?" He was a warrior. He was born to it, and he was good at it. Soldiering had been a part of his life longer than anything else, and he couldn't see himself as anything other than a fighter. It was a sad fact, and one that had cost him many times before. It had cost him the love of a woman, the potential for family, and it had cost him friends as they lay dying on battlefields.
The room grew uncomfortably silent before Athos finally cleared his throat and said, "Too soon."
Porthos nodded. "You won't be disappointed in me… I'll do right by you, Sir."
"Don't call me, Sir, Porthos." Athos stepped around his desk. He clapped Porthos' shoulder, and said, "I asked you because I trust you to make the right decision — no matter the cost to you personally." He grabbed his cloak, hat, and saddlebags that were filled with his needed supplies and walked to the door. "Don't redecorate the office while I'm away." He raised his eyebrows in challenge.
"Change is good," Porthos said, and then chuckled as he followed him out of the office. "You haven't changed a thing since Treville left… maybe you should add a hint of color to the room."
"I like it the way it is."
"Boring… drab… a bit on the melancholy side," Porthos said with a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe Madame Constance could make you a pillow with a bit of color." He looked at d'Artagnan, who stood next to Aramis with his hands tucked beneath his armpits, hips forward, and his feet shoulder width apart.
Roger stood saddled and chomped at his bit while young Jacques held his reins and waited for Athos to come down the steps.
"Do you need a pillow, Captain?" d'Artagnan asked with a hint of amusement. "Constance could stitch one together for you," he motioned with his hand as though caressing a soft surface, "that your pretty little head would sleep comfortably on."
Aramis chuckled and slapped d'Artagnan's arm with the back of his hand.
Athos grumbled beneath his breath. "I'll be back in a few days." He tied his saddlebags to the saddle and then mounted. "Don't break anything while I'm away."
"When you say break," Aramis asked, "do you mean permanently, or," he shrugged, "break it… but make sure it's fixable?"
Porthos choked back a laugh, watched Athos nudge Roger's sides and then slowly jog from the courtyard. Athos turned right and then disappeared from sight.
"So, Captain," Aramis said with a smile to Porthos, "what's your first order?"
Porthos thought for a long moment, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched several musketeers work within the stables grooming their horses, cleaning their tack, shoving horse droppings into the wheeled cart. He knew Marc was counting inventory and readying a list of supplies that were needed, and the new cook was experimenting with lamb and onions. "I don't know," he said calmly, but confidently.
D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.
Aramis chuckled, stepped beside Porthos, and clapped a hand over his shoulder. "How about we set a few surprises for Athos while he's away?"
"I promised 'im, Aramis."
Aramis nodded in disappointment. "Can I at least ask Constance to make him a pillow — as my first official assignment, mind you?" He tilted his head slightly to the right and twitched his eyebrows. "Something bold and pretentious."
Porthos chuckled as he looked Aramis in the eyes. "Just remember… Athos 'as the patience of a saint when it comes to revenge."
Aramis nodded and smiled. "I know."
