Thank you again for all your wonderful feedback! Things are starting to fall into place as agreements are made.
Let the journey continue...
Porthos chuckled. Aramis smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, and d'Artagnan looked up from the table where he was seated, eating the last of his dinner. Athos limped, handed Kelpie's reins to Jacques, said a few words, and the young man nodded and led the big horse to the stables.
"You look like a man who has walked 100 leagues of uneven roads, Athos," Aramis said. He snickered and looked side-eyed at Porthos, who nodded. "As captain of the Musketeers, Brother, surely you know what horses are for."
Athos grumbled and muttered curse words as he limped to the steps to his office. His leather boots were not meant for walking in the mud for nearly three leagues. Blisters had formed and popped on his heels and he was sure on the balls of his feet. Kelpie had kicked at his belly a league after leaving the farm, and Athos had walked faster to keep the animal from stopping and rolling in an attempt to ease his discomfort. A short while later, the big horse let loose a healthy bowel movement, which was followed by several extended and powerful puffs of wind. All of which had Athos rubbing his neck and wincing. Kelpie was turning out to be a horse with an abundance of issues that caused Athos to question his decisions.
"He didn't dump you again. What happened?" d'Artagnan asked and watched Athos grab the railing and start walking up the steps.
"He decided to drink a substantial amount of apple brandy that would have been better used as horse liniment than a beverage," Athos said as he stepped onto the top step. He ignored the chucking from Porthos and Aramis and pushed open the door to his office. He looked at his chair with relief and admiration; he had never been so grateful for a chair in all his days.
Athos took a seat, kicked off his boots, pulled off his socks and stretched his toes. He looked at the blisters and winced, but took a deep breath and relaxed against the seat. He ignored Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan as they entered the office. Porthos grabbed a chair, spun it around on one leg and straddled the back. He rested his arms across the top rail. D'Artagnan leaned against the mantle, and rested his foot on the hearth, while Aramis rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Athos removed his weapons belt while he was seated and tossed it onto his desk, and then relaxed.
"How were Patrick's family?" d'Artagnan asked. He placed his hand on his hip and looked at Athos.
"Exceptional," Athos said. He took a deep breath and rested his hands on his lap. "They have requested that Patrick be buried here with his brothers."
"That's good," Porthos said. He nodded once and then cleared his throat. "The rains 'ave stopped, but the floodin' in the lower quadrants continues." He shrugged. "It's goin' to be some time before those people can get back to their 'omes."
"The churches and inns?" Athos asked.
"Full," Aramis said. "We have some men bringing water down from the lakes up north, but I fear if the people get impatient, they'll starting using the water from the wells — we've encouraged them to boil and use cloth to filter it, but they're all tired, wet, and desperate."
D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "The queen has seen to increasing the food rations given the current state of affairs. The red guards are working to rebuild the banks along the waterways into the Seine."
"And the men?" Athos asked.
"Managin' the food rations, an' keepin' people away from the most dangerous areas in the city," Porthos said.
A knock at the door caused Athos to raise his eyebrows and take a deep breath before he uttered, "Enter."
A palace messenger opened the door, bowed, and then stepped forward. Despite the rain and the mud outside, he was cleanly dressed. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a fresh face, the young man nodded and handed Athos the note with Treville's unbroken seal. He bowed again and then quickly left.
Athos leaned forward. With his elbows on his his knees, he snapped the wax seal, opened the letter and read. He exhaled slowly and rubbed his eyes. "The Prince of Orange, Frederick Henry, has arrived with his young son and wife." He tossed the letter onto his desk and stood. He removed his doublet, hung it from the hook by the door and then pulled his shirt over his head and quickly changed.
Aramis grabbed the note and read it before he handed it to Porthos. "There is going to be discussions of alliances tonight? Isn't that a bit…" he shrugged, "a bit forward — even for the king?"
Athos tucked his blouse into his britches, took a seat, and slipped into some clean socks. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees again, and said, "We're going to war. I doubt the king is concerned with his traditional festivities prior to discussing matters of state." He grabbed his boots, and nodded in thanks to d'Artagnan, who handed him a rough brush to knock the mud from the soles and square tips.
"I'll have Jacques saddle you a horse —"
"Kelpie will be fine and you are all needed at the palace."
"At whose request?" Aramis asked, and looked again at the letter.
"Mine," Athos said. He slipped his feet into his boots with a wince and stood. He reached for his dark, nearly black doublet that hung next to the one he had previously worn, and slipped it on. "Remi and Mark can manage the men — our priority is the king." He buttoned the front and then reached for his weapons belt.
"This feels like a 'ot skillet without any lard," Porthos muttered as he stood.
D'Artagnan opened the door and said over his shoulder, "What does that mean?"
Porthos slapped d'Artagnan's shoulder with a look of disbelief.
Aramis watched the door close and then watched Athos buckle his weapons belt. "Two young men stopped by the garrison earlier wanting to become recruits — they are much too young, but," he said, squared his shoulders and grabbed the edge of the door. "Jacques is of age, and we need another soldier — he's well trained, knows how to shoot, how to manage a sword —"
"You don't have to convince me, Aramis," Athos said. "If the young men are good with horses, then perhaps adding Jacques to the list of those to be commissioned is an honorable solution."
Aramis nodded and then followed Athos out of the office. "We'll need more than just two stablehands in the months to come."
"Two will be fine," Athos said. "The men need to see to their own horses… and those that remain in Paris to guard the king will need assistance. I anticipate the king only keeping a few musketeers close by while the rest of us are sent on ahead."
"Who will manage them?"
Athos paused, watched Constance kiss d'Artagnan and then stand back as he walked to the horses. "I've not decided as yet," he said over his shoulder.
"Whomever you decide, brother, they will need to manage more than just the king."
"We don't manage anyone, Aramis. We simply make sure nobody dies while under our steadfast watch."