SUMMARY: A post-series collection of vignettes exploring the little moments in the lives of the Inseparables.
WARNINGS: None.
DISCLAIMER: The Musketeers are sadly not mine.
English is not my first language and this work has not been beta read. All mistakes are mine.
~oOo~
His nose tickled. His attempt to snort out the offending element only resulted in more of the hairy menace invading his nose.
Shifting slightly, Athos swatted an arm. It ended up tangled in thick, long tresses.
"Morning," Sylvie laughed over him.
"Hmph," came his eloquent reply.
"Wakey, wakey."
"Hmph."
"No?"
"Hmph."
His eyes were still shut. Soft lips descended on his own without warning.
Well, if this was how he was going to be dredged up from his sleep, he didn't mind...
The door flew open.
"Mama! Papa! It's snowing!"
Athos didn't mind the abrupt end of the kiss either. Not when Sylvie's giggles filled the air.
"The Queen has many remarkable qualities."
"But cooking isn't one of them."
"Come on, you're overreacting," the Captain of the Musketeers chuckled. "What's the worst that can happen? You'll die of food poisoning?"
The First Minister of France glanced up from his paperwork to respond to the blithe remark with a scorching glare.
"Who gave Her Majesty the idea to cook dinner for you anyway?" d'Artagnan wondered aloud.
Aramis did not miss the fleeting spark of mischief in those familiar dark eyes. He reclined in his chair, hand reaching up to scratch his carefully-trimmed beard, as if giving the matter some genuine thought. "Indeed, I wonder who," he mused, voice carefully neutral.
(D'Artagnan could obviously reveal to Aramis that Her Majesty had been taking cooking lessons form Constance and Elodie but where would be the fun in that?)
"Aramis?"
No response.
"Aramis."
" 'Thos, don'-"
She reached across the barricading pillows to nudge a shoulder.
"Aramis!"
The man in question simply rolled to the other side. She huffed.
Time for drastic measures.
"Louis is making paper boats out of your documents again."
There were splutters and gasps and within seconds, the First Minister of France was sitting up, his head in a whirl of motion. "No Louis...wha-"
She waited for his sleep addled eyes to gain focus and settle on her in bewilderment. His mussed up hair resembled a bird's nest that had just braved a storm.
(He looked adorable.)
"You're hogging all the blankets," the Queen Regent of France scowled.
"What?" Aramis scowled back. "No way..."
The words faded away in the wake of certain observations made regarding the positions of all the bedsheets.
Anne raised an eyebrow. "See?"
Aramis hummed.
The next thing she knew, Anne was being tackled to the mattress, squished under a heavy body, the limbs of which were in a flurry of activity that soon resulted in the pillows and bedsheets being rearranged.
(Later, she would deny the series of Un-Queenly squeaks that escaped her lips at her husband's antics.)
"See?" Aramis muttered into her hair, already half asleep. "Now we're both warm."
Well... there was no arguing against this now.
Under the blankets, under Aramis, Anne slept peacefully for the rest of the night.
"Ah, so you must be Marie," Elodie beamed at the little girl being helped to dismount from the horse. "Porthos has told me a lot about you."
Marie glanced back at the man in question, her new Papa, as he handed over the reins of his steed to the stable boy. "You did?"
Porthos nodded before giving her a fond smile.
Marie had a broad smile on her face when she turned back to Elodie. She peered at the little bundle in Elodie's arm. "This," Elodie said as she hunched down a little to help the girl get a better view, "is Marie-Cessette."
"Say hello to your little sister, Marie," Porthos chimed in from behind.
Marie-Cessette appeared to be in a fine mood today. Her bright blue eyes settled on the newest addition to her family. She cooed and giggled and extricated a tiny hand from her swaddles. Marie waved her thumb over her sister's face. The baby grabbed it enthusiastically.
"She is so tiny," Marie observed.
"She has been in this world for only a few months," Porthos chuckled. "Give her some time."
"Can I hold her?" the eight-year-old questioned, already rocking on her heels in excitement.
"You can hold her all you like after we get inside and eat something first. I'm hungry and you know how hungry Giants like to snack on children."
With a squeal, the young girl scampered towards the front doors, Elodie hurrying after her as best as she could with a baby in her arms.
Porthos smiled. His family was growing.
"Send the wheat sacks to Alain, he will sort them out," Constance hollered over the hubbub at the pair of cadets who had just arrived with a cart full of rations. The young men scurried away to do her bidding.
Constance hazarded a peek behind the tarpaulin flap, inside the makeshift cabin that was the Musketeer Captain's temporary office for now.
D'Artagnan was poring over the mountain ranges of documents and ledgers stacked before him. Reading orders, scribbling letters, approving requests, that's all he appeared to do this past two months.
Two months. Two months since the Dauphin's coronation, two months since the Queen took up the mantle of leadership, two months since Athos left, two months since Porthos was sent to the fronts again, two months since Aramis was pronounced the First Minister of France...
Two months since Treville's death, two months since the Garrison was destroyed...
Two months since her husband took charge of the regiment.
Two months felt like a lifetime ago.
That time when she had confided in Anne about her unwillingness to bring a child to this world felt even longer.
The world around her had changed. It did not become better.
"Madame?"
She inhaled deeply before turning to face the cadet.
So young. Younger than even d'Artagnan had been when he had arrived in Paris.
So many of them were barely out of their teens.
"What is it Jean?"
"Erm... Alain called for you," Jean relayed, a suspicious blush creeping into his cheeks.
"What did you and Pierre mess up this time?" Constance huffed, moving past the young man. The trainee Musketeer followed her like an obedient duckling.
The world had not become a better place. With diligence and patience, it might one day.
"You fool!" Porthos growled. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I would prefer not to see my so... sovereign skewered by a madman," Aramis hissed, whether in irritation or pain, Porthos was not sure. Probably both if he had to guess.
"You should really spare some for my men," d'Artagnan rejoined, appearing on the other side of the bed. "Let them be useful for once."
"Hmm, thought they could watch and learn from a master."
Porthos rolled his eyes. "A master in foolhardiness you mean. Not a great lesson for those lads."
Aramis was already drifting back to his drug-induced slumber before an abrupt thought crossed his mind. "Wait Porthos, weren't you supposed to be back from the fronts on Tuesday?"
"It's Thursday," Porthos huffed.
The pair of bleary eyes widened with realization. "That means..."
"You were out for five days," d'Artagnan finished for him.
Silence descended on the room. Aramis absent mindedly traced the bandages over his torso.
"How are they?" he asked after a while.
"Her Majesty has been worried sick of course," d'Artagnan replied. "The King was scared."
"And you?"
"How do you think?" Porthos grumbled. "Sleepless nights, praying that your sorry ass pulls through this one as well." The General rubbed his eyes. "Dammit 'Mis, I'm not getting any younger."
Aramis carefully extricated his hand from under the bedsheets and extended it towards his brother. Porthos took it, his grip warm and gentle.
The former Musketeer gave his friend a weak smile.
"I'm here now, old man."
~oOo~
A/N: I peppered in a tiny throwback to Season 1 Episode 9, Knight Takes Queen. Can you spot it?
What was your favourite part? Do let me know :3