XIX. What We Can Give

"But Maman, I'm hungry."

Athos' heard the child's whimper even from afar. He was standing at one of the tents where they were keeping their last remaining supplies, Aramis and Porthos by his side. They had just been handing out the daily rations, and they had informed every musketeer that would listen about Suard's orders. Some of them, like Frédéric, had merely shrugged and retreated to a corner to eat, others were seated at the campfire, staring blankly at the untouched bowls in their hands.

"I know, my dear. I know. Hush now." The woman answered, cradling her daughter in her arms. "We are all hungry. We will have to wait until we reach the mainland."

"Why can't we just go home?" the girl asked, and the child's innocence and sadness pierced through Athos' heart like a musket ball. It was all so tragic, so unjust.

The mother's lips were trembling, and she just planted a kiss on the child's forehead. "Because home is no more," she murmured, more to herself than to her daughter. She threw accusing glances over to the musketeer regiment, her eyes full of sadness and desperation. Athos really couldn't hold it against her.

Athos eventually returned his attention to his own ration, and he followed Aramis and Porthos over towards a spot near the wall, where Arthur and Mathis were already sitting on the dusty ground, their rations about a meter in front of them on the ground, untouched.

"This is wrong," Arthur greeted them with a dark expression on his face. "I understand that Buckingham is not treating French civilians with the care that should be appropriate, but we're really doing his work for him." He threw sinister looks towards the commander's tent, and kept fumbling with the blue sash around his waist. "What did he say to you again? We should abandon our morals?"

Porthos nodded. "Something along those lines, yeah." For a moment, nobody said a word. "Do you think the King would support this? If he knew about it?"

Aramis snorted. "The King is a spoiled child. But despite everything, I am sure he has a heart, and he wouldn't leave his own countrymen to die."

"And what is Suard's plan anyway?" Aramis added. "If we don't starve today, we starve next week. We have sent no word to the mainland, and it has been two days since Henri last brought some of the letters to the citadel. Who knows how long it takes until they reach their destination."

"We spoke to Méchant," Athos said, staring holes into the bowl in his hands. "He is aware of the situation. If Commander Décart still relies on us to distract the English forces, he'll try to make sure we don't die yet."

"You sure know how to see things the positive way, Athos." Mathis was playing with his main gauche. "If nothing else helps, we still have the horses. It's better than starving."

Aramis made a disgusted sound. "We're no savages, Mathis. We need those animals."

Athos turned his head to cast glances towards the other side of the fortress, where the three horses they possessed were grazing on some spare grass.

He almost heard Porthos shaking his head violently. "The horses are too valuable. If all goes to hell, if it hasn't already, they are our only chance to get a few people to the citadel safely."

"If they don't starve first," Aramis added. "What is Suard thinking anyway? That they have to 'earn their keep'? Is he expecting them to go out hunting rabbits? All while trying not to get shot by an English soldier?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Athos was still looking at the horses. "The General thinks this is the easiest way out of the problem for now," he said mildly, leaving the rest of his thought unspoken.

Porthos just shook his head. "The easiest way out is not always the best." He held up his bowl of stew, coughing a few times into his sleeve. "My ration right? Then I'm allowed to do with it whatever I want."

He stood up and unsteadily walked over to the mother and her child, kindly placing the bowl in her hands. The woman first made an attempt to decline, but Porthos was waving his hands violently and taking a few steps back, clearly refusing to take it. Eventually, the woman offered a grateful smile and began feeding the broth to her child.

Athos exchanged a quick look with Aramis, and without hesitating for one second, they too brought their rations to the civilians. Arthur and Mathis followed their lead. They attracted the attention of the rest of the regiment quickly. They heard the murmuring at their backs, but it didn't take more than ten seconds until they heard footsteps and the musketeers Théo and Eric offered their rations too.

While Athos, with Aramis and Porthos by his side, retreated back towards their spot near the fire, they watched at least two thirds of the men standing up as well and handing their rations to the women, children and men. Some more hesitant than others, but with a few exceptions, they all offered what they had left to give to those who needed it the most. The civilians, those who still had some energy left, took it with a smile on their faces, and despite the noise, Athos was even able to hear a child screeching with joy at the taste of the awful broth. His mouth twitched, and he shared a look with Aramis and Porthos. He knew his brothers had the same thoughts as he did. For the first time in days, this had felt like the right thing to do.

For a few moments, the five of them continued to sit in silence around the campfire, watching the civilians and sharing a can of water.

"No matter what Suard says, we could still go outside, see if we can find anything. There has to be more to this island than one destroyed village and the besieged citadel," Mathis suggested, breaking the silence.

"It goes against a direct order. Suard would find out," Aramis answered tiredly.

"So what, we're just going to sit here until we're all too sick to move, and the English can perform God's mercy on us?" Mathis asked.

Arthur sighed and looked up, and sent a scolding look towards Mathis, almost like a father scolding his son. "That's not what Aramis meant, and you…"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted them and they all looked up to the face of the woman Marie, who had a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "Porthos, right? You rescued my daughter, back in Cévry." With a heavy heart, Athos remembered that her son had been taken, and with all the chaos of the past weeks, they hadn't even bothered to look for civilians when they had been at Saint-Blanceau.

"Porthos, I'd like to share this with you," she said and knelt down, offering the half-eaten bowl to him. Porthos raised his hands in refusal and shook his head.

"No, madame, I appreciate it but…"

"I insist." She forced a sad smile and gently but firmly placed the bowl in Porthos' hands. Porthos grabbed the spoon and offered her a gentle smile, while placing the other hand above his heart. "Thank you."

Only moments later, a child approached Arthur and asked to share his ration too, and then, a young boy called Mathis over to share the meal. The young musketeer threw his comrades a surprised look, before he got up and walked towards the group.

Aramis was approached by a young woman, one he apparently once had offered medical care, and he was given a few spoons of the broth they had just handed over.

Athos curiously watched how more and more civilians rose from the ground and scattered all over the fortress, joining the musketeers who had shared their rations and seeking to give something back.

It was Lucien who eventually appeared at Athos' side, and he elicited a hiss from the musketeer when he touched the inflamed arm.

"I know we haven't always been easy," the self-proclaimed spokesman stated slowly, and he pulled an apple out of the inner pocket of his coat. Athos could only guess where it had come from, but it didn't matter. Lucien placed the fruit in Athos' hand. "But we thank you."

Athos enclosed the apple with both hands and raised them a little, nodding gratefully. "Thank you."

Lucien nodded and headed back towards his family.

Athos!" Suard's bark could be heard in the entire camp, and all of the surrounding musketeers turned to look at the swordsman, who just pressed his lips into a thin line and stood up.

"Want us to come with you?" Porthos asked immediately, but Athos shook his head.

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "I'll pray for you, my friend."

Athos rolled his eyes and just turned around to head towards the commander's tent. He knew exactly what was going to happen, yet he felt no fear, nor regret. He knew they had done the only right thing that was left.

As soon as he entered the tent, he was greeted by their commander's angry stare. General Suard was standing at the tactical table, his hands pressed into fists so hard his knuckles were white. He was still rather pale, but the wound on his head was barely noticeable by now.

"You care to explain what is going on out there?" Suard's words sounded as if he needed all of his self-control not to shout them, and Athos merely straightened up as much as possible, not without the usual pain shooting through his entire arm. He did not know how much longer he could keep going like this.

"Sir, you ordered that the remaining supplies were supposed to be given to the remaining musketeers. And the musketeers decided, since the rations were theirs, that they would share them with the civilians."

"What is it with you musketeers?" Suard growled and ran a hand over his head. "I've seen men turn into the most selfish and brutal egoists because of hunger. But you, you prefer to starve in order to maintain some honor?"

"No." Athos stayed completely calm. "But we value the survival of innocent people higher than our own comfort."

Suard rounded the table and came to a stop in front of Athos, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Strangely, he did not look as if he wanted to rip Athos' head off. "Comfort? What about your survival? And do you value their survival higher than keeping this godless people out of our territory?" He sounded more curious than reproachful.

Athos needed a split second to evaluate whether he should restrain himself or not, but eventually, he decided that he was probably going to die here anyway, so there was no use in holding back anymore.

"Yes, we do. We gain nothing if we manage to defend this island for the King, but let his own people die in the process." Athos made sure to look straight into Suard's eyes.

"The King does not care who lives or who dies here," Suard said coldly. "In the end, all that matters to him is whether the flag on top of the citadel is a French or an English one."

Athos straightened up as much as possible. "Sir, with all respect, you cannot expect us to watch these people die. There are innocent men. There are women, children! We are not letting a child die if we can prevent it."

Suard didn't give him as much as a glance. "You know, when Décart told me I should take over the command of the musketeer regiment, I asked him what makes you so special. What differentiates a musketeer from a common soldier." Suard's eyes were fixed on a point behind Athos. "And he gave me no answer, he just said I would find out." Athos didn't need to look to realize Suard's attention was now completely back on him. "Perhaps you can provide an answer, Athos?"

Athos took a deep breath. "Nothing."

"Pardon me?"

"The answer is nothing," Athos repeated a bit louder, trying hard to maintain a respectful tone. "We are no better than the men that died protecting the citadel for Décart or the English that drowned on that beach."

"That's not true," Suard spoke with a deadly calmness. "You are alive. They are not."

Athos was growing more and more impatient. What was the point of this conversation? But Suard just continued.

"Besides, you musketeers joined, no you are, the King's elite regiment."

"Every man here worked hard to earn his commission," Athos cut in a little ruder than he had intended, but the General continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"The King chose you to protect him. Tell me, why did you choose to protect him? There must be more to it than a musketeer's honor, or duty. Why is it that you choose to fight for the King so fiercely? So stubbornly? So…selflessly?"

Athos narrowed his eyes. If he hadn't already known that Suard was not fond of Louis, he would have noticed it by now from the way the General was phrasing his assumptions, and the tone of voice in which he chose to say it. And the musketeer chose his next words very carefully.

"Our first duty is to France. To its people, and the one responsible for their well-being."

Suard looked almost surprised. He had been rounding on Athos like a predator, whether it was to intimidate him or not, Athos did not know. But the general now came to a stop at the table, and leaned against it, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was not taller than Athos, but he was definitely trying to be at the moment.

"Let me say it this way: the King is not here now. And he is not going to save you, or this island. That is something that you have in your hands. You, Athos, your friends, and every soldier with Décart in the citadel." Athos shook his head, as if he hadn't heard correctly. For a moment, Suard had almost sounded like an encouraging commanding officer.

"If it is we who decide our fate, then why did you send our only medic on a dangerous mission?" Athos was not distracted, nor intimidated by the general's speeches and assumptions. He was focused on getting answers, and if he didn't know any better, it seemed that Suard was turning their situation into hell on purpose.

The general's face turned to stone, and the proud spark he had had in his eyes disappeared in an instant. "I have a plan," Suard hissed, completely ignoring Athos' prior statement. "And it will go down soon. The Butcher will not be prepared. We will bring in another victory, Athos. You just need to have some goddamn faith!"

Athos bit down the remark he had originally on his tongue and chose to bow instead. "If we are not dead by then, our blades shall be yours."

"You know, I didn't think I would have to say this, but you almost look worse than Athos here." Aramis' voice was pinched with concern as he watched Porthos' tall frame being shaken by another coughing fit. Athos, Aramis and Porthos were gathered right outside the medic's tent. Athos was leaning against a small tree-trunk, ready to get the rest his body so desperately craved.

"It's nothin'," Porthos grunted and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm just tired and hungry. So, the general has a plan, yes?" he continued in a weak attempt to change the subject. Athos could see Aramis' narrow his eyes suspiciously, but he refused to be distracted.

"If it isn't any better tomorrow, you, my friend, are put on bed rest," Aramis just added, before his gaze wandered towards Athos. "The same goes for you."

Athos ignored him. They were all battered and bruised, Aramis was no exception. But Athos could not stop doing what had to be done because of his arm, and he knew that Aramis was aware of that too. Still, he was sure that Aramis was just trying to regain control over a situation that had long been out of it.

"He has a plan. An attack plan, I would guess," Athos answered briefly, and turned to Porthos. "He wants to share more in the morning with the rest of us."

Aramis grunted. "Let's just hope he hasn't lost all of his sense when…"

"Athos!" A voice called them, one that unmistakenly belonged to Arthur. Arthur had been on guard duty outside the fortress near the shore. "Aramis! Porthos! Get out here, quickly!"

Athos leapt to his feet as fast as he could, and he and Porthos took the time to pull Aramis to his feet. All three of them shared a panicked look before they ran towards the gate and slipped through it, rounding the outer walls of the fortress until they reached the spot where Arthur was supposed to be.

The musketeer was standing on the shore, but there was something else they were able to make out in the faint starlight and the spare moonlight. There were wooden boats floating in the shallow waters, and there was another man standing with Arthur. Athos and Porthos immediately pulled out their rapiers and Aramis grabbed his pistol, but Arthur made a gesture that showed them to expect no immediate danger.

The man was short and thin, and he wore a uniform that was much too big for him. But Athos recognized the uniform as he got closer, and he loosened the grip on his rapier. The man was French.

"Are you the musketeer called Athos?" the French soldier asked. He was young, barely old enough to be fighting in the army.

Athos nodded, and the boy handed him a piece of paper. Athos quickly unfolded it, and due to Porthos and Aramis' impatient stare, he read it out loud.

With best regards from Cardinal Richelieu.

Captain Méchant.

Aramis smiled in relief and made the sign of the cross, before kissing the wooden cross around his neck.

"This earns the cardinal at least a month of me not beating his guards up," Porthos said and called out for Guillaume and Théo. The musketeers appeared quickly, and when their eyes fell on the boats that were filled with all sorts of supplies, their eyes went wide.

"How…," Théo asked breathlessly and ran into the waters to check the contents of the nearest boat.

Porthos grinned. "Doesn't matter, get this inside!"

Théo nodded and couldn't hide his relief as he hurried back into the fortress to get help.

Porthos managed a laugh, and Aramis granted Athos a broad smile. The hope that seemed to be lost earlier this day had returned to their eyes, and even Athos' eyes shone with relief as he placed a hand on his brothers' shoulders.

"This is not yet the place to die, my friends."

Note: A large supply fleet, ordered by Richelieu, actually arrived in Saint-Martin-de-Ré , though historically, it was a bit later (about a month before the end of the siege). Beforehand, it is told that Richelieu offered a reward of 30000 livres to the ship captain that managed to get through the English blockades to deliver supplies to the citadel.

We'll be back with some action and all that comes with it soon (we are heading towards the finale after all). Thank you to sara and Laureleaf for the lovely comments!
Next chapter up as soon as I get it done. Thank you for reading.