A/N: Thank you beeblegirl, SnidgetHex, and pallysAramisRios for reviewing!
Chapter 2
Aramis threw his sword arm up to block a strike from Porthos, then parried a second in quick succession. It was fortunate Porthos wasn't sparring with his schiavona; otherwise Aramis would be feeling the blows twice as hard. As it was, he was more sore from the battle at the monastery than he'd like to admit, and his skills were rather rusty after two years of neglecting them. Sure, he knew the moves and could defend himself, but he lacked the flourish and grace he once possessed, and his muscles did not approve of the brutal workout.
Even so, the two musketeers had drawn an audience of cadets who looked rather awed by their performance. Aramis deflected another swing and danced around Porthos's side, putting some distance between them. He desperately needed a break but didn't want to admit it, so instead he gestured with his sword to the new recruits.
"Maybe you should show them a thing or two," he suggested, hating that he couldn't conceal how winded he was.
Porthos, thankfully, did not rib him for it but turned to the watching cadets with an eager grin. "You heard the man. Let's see what you got."
Aramis shuffled over to the picnic table and collapsed onto the bench, chest heaving and sweat making his shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin.
A hand holding a cup of water appeared in front of him as d'Artagnan took a seat.
Aramis accepted it gratefully. "Thank you."
"Two years is bound to leave anyone out of shape," d'Artagnan remarked mildly.
Aramis grimaced. "Yes, well, meditation was valued at the monastery more than sparring."
D'Artagnan smirked. "Now there's an image. Two monks dueling in the courtyard while bandying Scriptures."
Aramis's mouth quirked and he sipped slowly at the water. "If I had known bandits would show up on our doorstep, I would have kept it up."
D'Artagnan folded his hands between his knees. "You didn't think you'd ever come back?" he asked quietly.
Aramis hung his head and didn't answer right away. He knocked back the rest of the water and twisted to set the cup on the table.
"I hadn't let myself hope for such a thing," he admitted. "It was…hard in the beginning. It took me so long just to get past what Milady had done, and by then I still struggled daily. I had begun to give up on ever feeling like myself again."
"Are you sure about being back?" d'Artagnan asked, expression pinched with concern.
Aramis smiled. "Yes. Seeing you all again, the thrill of the fight—I finally remembered what it was to feel alive." He shrugged one shoulder. "I just have a lot of catching up to do." With that, he rose to his feet and picked up his blade again. "Speaking of which, care to put an old man through his paces?"
D'Artagnan snorted. "You're hardly that old." But he stood as well and drew his sword.
"I feel like it, looking around at all these lads. Some look barely out of boyhood."
"I will admit, they even make me feel…older."
Aramis grinned and shook his head as the two of them moved off to a clear space to do some sword practice of their own. And once again, Aramis found his stamina sorely tested. He remembered when d'Artagnan had been the new recruit, swiftly climbing the ranks with his developing skills. Now he far outshone Aramis.
After several exchanges, Aramis staggered back, breathing heavily again. "War has sharpened your swordsmanship even more than I last remember. Have you bested Athos yet?"
D'Artagnan grinned. "We haven't tested it. I think because Athos is afraid to finally lose."
"That is hardly true," Athos's dry voice interrupted as he strode into the garrison.
Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged smirks. Right.
Athos was carrying a case, which he set on the picnic table. "Porthos!" he called, waving him over to join them. "The King had new uniforms made," he said, opening the lid and pulling out brand new pauldrons.
They were much fancier than their old ones had been, and more identical in design, with gold plated fleur-de-lis emblems and brass studs.
"Wow," d'Artagnan commented as Athos handed him one. He admired the craftsmanship for a moment before buckling it onto his shoulder.
"These are going to need some breaking in," Porthos commented with a grin.
Athos handed one to Aramis as well.
"Does this mean my commission has been officially reinstated?" he asked.
Athos smiled. "Welcome back."
Aramis's face cracked into a grin that matched his friends.
Porthos clipped his pauldron on and tapped d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Come on," he said, an eager gleam in his eye.
D'Artagnan shook his head. "Why do you always insist on dirtying up the uniform?" he scowled good-naturedly as he followed Porthos back out into the middle of the yard to resume sparring.
Aramis decided he'd finally take a respite from training. He had a lot of catching up to do, but he wouldn't be doing it all in one day.
.o.0.o.
After distributing their new pauldrons, Athos went up to his office where he found Constance sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork. She immediately stood at his entrance.
"Sorry," she said abashedly. "Habit."
He waved off the apology. "I haven't had a chance to look everything over in detail, but from what I can tell, and what Treville told me, you've done an admirable job running the garrison in our absence."
Constance ducked her gaze to hide a pleased smile. "I was glad to do it, and to have something to keep me busy."
Athos nodded in understanding. With most of the dragons gone to fight the war, Constance and her father would have had reduced responsibilities. "If you're amenable to it, I would be grateful for your continued help," he said.
Constance faltered in surprise. "Oh. Are you sure?"
He gave her a small smile. "I was never fond of paperwork."
That earned a smirk. "Mm-hm."
"You're also familiar with the new recruits. I would value your estimation of them."
Constance nodded, expression turning serious as she realized he was not teasing her. "Um, about Captain Lahaye…"
"I gather he has been giving you trouble for a while?" Athos inferred.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," she quickly assured him. "But I am concerned about what I witnessed at the food distribution center yesterday, and what I've been hearing from people in the city. The City Guard are ruthless, and they seem to enjoy using their authority to abuse the people, especially the refugees. I know you've only just gotten back and it's not your responsibility, I just thought…" She trailed off as though she didn't know what she'd thought. "I thought I might take a dragon to the food lines every once in a while," she said. "To keep the guards in check as much as the so-called riots."
Athos pursed his mouth at the information. "I don't see that would be a problem. The King wants one dragon on guard duty outside the palace at all times, but we have four."
"Six," Constance corrected. "Dragor and the one female we have left for breeding have been taking turns standing watch since the Dauphin was born."
Athos nodded. "That's plenty of rotations, then. And I will look into your other concerns as well."
Constance's expression melted with relief. "Thank you."
He smiled in return, and she headed out. Athos took a few minutes to go over some things, then he went back downstairs to the yard where the earlier sparring sessions had morphed into a more formalized instruction, with d'Artagnan schooling the cadets in proper balance and poise with their swords. Porthos was over at the table, wiping down his new pauldron. Athos hid a smirk as he walked up to him.
"The best way to break in a new uniform is to go on patrol," he said casually. "Care for a walk with me?"
Porthos quirked a brow at him. "Where we goin'?"
"To look into a few things around the city," Athos replied. "Constance shared some concerns."
Porthos shrugged and grabbed his weapons belt to buckle around his waist as they headed off.
While the streets themselves hadn't changed in their absence, there was a distinctive difference in the air that was palpable. Everything looked dingier, less maintained. The toll of war had a long reach.
"I didn't see it when we flew in," Porthos said, roving his gaze around, "but it's like all of Paris has turned into the Court of Miracles."
Indeed; there were beggars on nearly every corner, other people meandering about looking bedraggled and lost. Many shops had been closed and boarded up. City guardsmen patrolled the streets every other block, and Athos didn't miss the way citizens cowered away from them. And with those red and black uniforms, it reminded Athos of back when the Red Guard used to abuse their power in the streets.
Porthos nudged Athos's arm. "Hey," he said, thrusting his chin toward a disturbance down the street.
A pair of city guards appeared to be hassling some newly arrived refugees. One of the guards yanked a bag right out of a man's arms and ripped it open to look inside while his partner shoved the man back against the wall when he protested.
Athos and Porthos quickened their pace to intervene.
"What is the meaning of this?" Athos inquired tersely.
The city guards immediately postured themselves hostilely, only to falter when they noticed the shiny new pauldrons on the musketeers' shoulders.
"We're searching for contraband," the first guard answered shortly.
"And what makes you believe these people are in possession of any?" Athos asked.
The guard sneered back at him. "That's why we're checking."
Athos marched up to him and snatched the bag away. A quick glance inside showed only a few paltry items, likely the only valuables this family had been able to carry when they'd been forced from their homes.
"Congratulations, you didn't find any," Athos said dryly.
"I don't recall city security being under the Musketeers' purview," the guard retorted.
"We've defended the city plenty of times," Porthos interjected with a growl. "Even from the men those uniforms used to belong to."
The guard narrowed his gaze scathingly, and it started to look as though things were about to come to blows. While thrashing red guards had been a favored pastime of the musketeers, now was not the occasion for it.
"Be on your way," Athos ordered, fixing the two guards with a severe glare.
At first, they merely glowered back at him. But as a captain, he outranked them, so they finally shuffled off with vitriolic glowers cast over their shoulders.
Athos turned to the two peasants, who huddled together and averted their gazes fearfully. "Here," he said kindly and handed their bag back.
The man reached out a shaking hand to take it, then the two scurried away.
"I'm not likin' the look of things," Porthos said.
Athos nodded his agreement. He understood Constance's concerns now, though that city guardsman had been correct about one thing: this was not officially Musketeer jurisdiction. There were but four of them in Paris, and they had been recalled expressly for the royal family.
"Let's head back to the garrison."
They had only gone a few blocks when they came upon yet another confrontation between a city guard and a citizen. This time a woman was getting right up into the guard's face with raised voice that carried through the street.
"This is what the City Guard prides themselves on? Terrorizing innocent people?"
"Mind your own business!" the guard snapped.
On the ground next to them was a cowering man with his hands up as though he expected to be beaten.
"The treatment of common French citizens is my business!" the woman rejoined sharply.
The guard raised his arm as though to backhand her, but Porthos reached him in time to seize his wrist.
"You dare hit a woman?"
The guard tried to wrench free, and Porthos obliged by twisting him around and giving him a shove. The guard stumbled and then immediately drew his sword as the two musketeers placed themselves between him and his targets, angling their pauldrons clearly for him to see. He faltered.
"Beat it," Porthos growled in warning.
This one didn't hesitate, as he was outnumbered, and he quickly turned and left.
Athos turned around, only to freeze on the spot in utter shock at the woman he found himself facing. Ninon, likewise, blinked at him in surprise.
"Athos."
"Ninon…"
Porthos moved to help the cowering man off the ground, but he shied away from the large musketeer's touch.
"Thank you, Ninon," he blithered shyly. "But you should not have antagonized him."
"I could not stand by and do nothing," she replied with a kind smile. "Get back to the camp. I will return later."
He cast a nervous look at the musketeers before scurrying off. Athos suspected the people had grown to fear anyone in uniform.
He turned his stunned gaze back to Ninon. "What are you doing here?"
Her lips quirked. "It's nice to see you too. You never came back to visit."
Athos floundered for a response. "There was…war."
Ninon's expression sobered. "I know." She canted her head to the side. "Hello, Porthos."
"Hey," he responded.
"You did not answer my question," Athos pressed in a low voice. "What on earth are you doing here? You're a fugitive witch, remember?"
"I have not returned as the Comtesse de Larroque," she replied. "Just as Ninon, an equal among the people. No one has recognized me, and after all this time, I doubt anyone would."
Athos's jaw tightened in exasperation. "What possessed you to take such a risk?"
Ninon shrugged. "Fleur had grown a lot under Agnes's tutelage. There came a point where she no longer needed me to look after her. So I thought I could do more here."
"Standing up to city guards and almost getting beaten up yerself?" Porthos put in.
"Fighting against injustice, yes," she replied, then hesitated. "As much as I can, anyway. The only place I cannot show my face is Court, which is why I have not been able to petition the King to put a stop to the City Guard's mistreatment of his people." Ninon turned a pleased look on Athos. "But now that you are here, perhaps you can help my cause."
Athos could have rolled his eyes. First open education for women, now civil rights. At least Ninon was passionate about what she believed in, and in this latter case, at least, Athos could support it.
"I will speak with the captain of the City Guard," he promised.
She scowled. "He is as bad as his men."
"I will do what I can," Athos assured her.
Ninon dropped the disgusted look and nodded. "I appreciate that." A sultry smile tugged at her lips. "I am pleased to see you again."
Athos felt his cheeks warm slightly and he tried not to fidget. "It is good to see you too," he replied somewhat awkwardly.
Ninon hesitated as she glanced between him and Porthos. "I had wondered after you left Agnes's dwelling…how is Aramis?"
That was a long story, but the ending had worked out, so Athos settled for a simple, "He is well," as a response, since it was true and Aramis was back with them.
Ninon smiled again. "I'm glad to hear it. I should go, but you can find me at the refugee camp just outside the city."
With that, she nodded politely and then turned to leave. Athos watched her go, still somewhat stunned to find her here, of all places.
"So," Porthos said, grinning like an idiot. "Ninon."
Athos turned on his heel and started the other direction. "Yes."
"Always thought you two had a little somethin' there."
"There is hardly time for such things."
"Ah, but you'd like there to be?"
Athos rolled his eyes. "I did not say that."
"Don't have to," Porthos replied, looking far too pleased.
Athos inwardly sighed. Why did he get the feeling that as soon as they got back to the garrison, Porthos would be telling Aramis and d'Artagnan all about this little encounter?
He'd never hear the end of it now.
