AN This story is officially beginning to take over my life! I hope you enjoy the next chapter. There are a few notes at the end, if you like those sorts of things.
"You could just start at the beginning?" d'Artagnan suggested. "When did you first meet Garnon?"
The table was littered with the remains of their meal. The light under the door to Aramis' bedchamber where Athos was sleeping had long since been extinguished. At some point Aramis had kicked off his boots and Porthos had removed his jacket. From the back of a cupboard Aramis had unearthed a rather dusty bottle of brandy.
"It's as good a place as any to start," Porthos agreed.
"It was four years ago now," Ever the genial host Aramis poured the brandy into three glasses. "It seemed that each day there were more challenges to face, ever more frequent missions, sending us to all four corners of the realm. The regiment was being stretched to breaking point and we could not recruit men of sufficient quality fast enough to ensure the King's safety."
"Treville was faced with a devil of a choice," Porthos recalled. "Hold fast to the standards of the regiment and risk the King. Or recruit and be dammed."
"Garnon?" d'Artagnan guessed.
"He was well bred, his father, the Comte de Lyon, being often at court, although as the youngest of ten sons he himself was relatively unimportant," Aramis allowed. "He was handy with a blade and had been well educated. A man like that should have been an asset to the regiment."
"Shame he was such a git." Porthos observed.
"And yet," d'Artagnan scowled into his glass. "He appears to have no trouble securing the King's commission."
"You saying you would have wanted to do that any different?" Porthos indicated d'Artagnan's pauldron with his glass. "Things being hard won just makes 'em all the sweeter, you know."
"A little too obvious?" d'Artagnan had the grace to smile ruefully at his youthful resentment.
"Just a bit," Aramis looked fondly at him. "If it's any comfort, Garnon's father paid rather handsomely for his commission. Apparently, he had grown tired of his son's actions threatening to drag the family name through the mud, or even the courts of law. Perhaps, he hoped that a little time spent soldiering would knock him into shape."
"Or maybe that it would solve all his problems," Porthos observed wryly. "Dying in battle has to be better for the family reputation than watching 'im be executed for some crime or other."
"Surely Treville would never let a known criminal become a Musketeer," d'Artagnan spoke without thinking.
"You think there is always a choice?" Porthos spoke quietly.
D'Artagnan was mortified as he realised his indiscretion. The values his father had taught him in the comfort and security of their farm in Gascony no longer seemed so black and white here in Paris. He wasn't sure if Porthos was referring to Treville's predicament in having to accept Garnon or risk offending the King, or his own situation where Porthos had had no choice but to turn to crime, growing up as he did. Either way he strove to make amends.
"I'm sorry," He hoped Porthos could see how sincere he was. "I seem to be taking my own good fortune for granted rather a lot today."
"S'alright," Porthos forgave him easily. "None of us can help our upbringing. Aramis' parents wanted 'im to become a priest."
"Somehow, I cannot see that as your true calling," d'Artagnan shook his head at his friend. "Although, the robes would look good on you."
"You should see him in a dress." Porthos chortled.
"It was one time," Aramis rolled his eyes at d'Artagnan's gleeful expression. "We needed a decoy and I lost a bet. Now can we please get back to the matter in hand?"
"Garnon's connections could only get him so far," Porthos spoke up. "He was a good fighter but a rubbish leader."
"Garnon saw deference as his birth right, without the least consideration that a soldier needs to love and respect a man they might follow unto death. Not just fear them." Aramis mused.
"A man like Garnon you followed at your own risk." Porthos observed bitterly. "He soon put people's backs up."
"What happened between him and Athos?"
"As demand on the regiment increased Treville let it be known that he needed a man to serve as his Lieutenant," Aramis recalled. "Someone who could take charge if he were called to be absent, a man with enough breeding not to seem out of place at court, but with the heart of a soldier."
"Right off, Garnon assumed that he'd be the one chosen," Porthos shook his head in bemusement. "Granted he'd led a few missions that weren't complete failures, although his men got hurt more often than most and yet he never seemed to have a scratch on 'im."
"Surely Athos was the obvious choice?" d'Artaganan said loyally.
"Obvious perhaps to everyone but Athos," Aramis sighed. "He had not been long with the regiment and he had made it known he wasn't the least bit interested."
"Once Garnon reckoned the promotion was his for the taking, he got too confident for anyone's good." Porthos spoke darkly. "Things happened, people got hurt."
"You got hurt," Aramis traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "If we had not returned when we did .."
"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked cautiously.
"Athos happened. When he discovered what Garnon had done his sense of honour and duty wouldn't let a man like that lead the regiment into disaster," Porthos' expression softened as he recalled how Athos had stood by him and d'Artagnan pretended not to notice that he had not directly answered his question. "He went straight to the stables and fetched out a horse whip."
"The beauty of it was," Aramis smiled coldly. "Athos never actually laid a finger on him."
"You think you can stand in judgement over me?" Garnon mocked. "A man who consorts with thieves and adulterers? Someone who cannot get through the day without losing himself in a bottom of a bottle? You should look to your own conduct."
"Oh, I have," Athos vowed. "And my only regret is that I did not act sooner before you harmed one of the finest men I have ever met."
Garnon's confidence faltered slightly in the face of such absolute resolve. Around them the regiment had formed a loose sort of circle. He stared contemptuously at the solders closet to him.
"I am the son of the Comte de Lyon and I demand that you let me pass."
A few of the men shuffled their feet uncertainly and looked to Athos for guidance. At the slightest shake of his head they again closed ranks.
"You are rather fond of giving orders," Athos observed mildly.
"And I am accustomed to having them obeyed," Garnon lifted his chin. "As I have a right to expect."
"I have always believed that the true measure of a man is not in his linage but the manner in which he conducts himself," Athos gave a little flick of the whip.
"What could you know of such things?" Garnon bristled. "Do you think that because some village curate has taught you to read and some rudiments of conduct that you can speak as if you were my equal?"
"On the contrary, I am well aware that we are not equals," Athos sounded almost amused.
Looking at the faces of the assembled company Garnon felt the first stirrings of fear. Every expression was hostile, a few with lips curled in contempt, others smirking with glee at his predicament. Even if he tried to run there would be little chance of escape.
"Kneel." Athos commanded.
"Put an end to this now and I will see to it that no man other than Athos suffers for his folly." Garnon tried to appeal to the crowd.
"You forget, they have already suffered at your hand." Athos advanced, placing the tip of the whip under Garnon's chin and looked him in the eye. "A true leader should never ask anything of his men that he is not prepared to endure himself."
"You wouldn't dare."
To his utter modification, Garnon heard his voice quaver. A few sniggers from the assembled company told him that his weakness had not gone un-remarked.
"Kneel!" Athos' tone was pure command.
Garnon felt his knees weaken and buckle in the face of such stone cold fury and before he quite realised it he was on his knees in the dirt.
"Treville" He called an edge of panic in his voice. "Captain Treville!"
"Treville is not here," Athos advised him calmly as he circled around and reached down to rip the shirt from his back, leaving it exposed. "And, even if he was, he would not see or hear anything."
"You cannot do this!" Garnon felt his fear rising, no longer much caring that his demands now sounded more like begging. "My father will hear of this. The King will hear of this, a lowly musketeer dares raise his hand to a son of the nobility? I will see that you lose your commission and then I will see you hanged."
"Good luck with that."
Athos appeared utterly unmoved by the threat. Coming around to Garnon's left side he lent in and whispered something in his ear. With those words Garnon's last thread of hope that Athos would not dare do this vanished and with it his last shred of dignity.
"He soiled himself in front of the entire regiment?" d'Artagnan exclaimed.
"Uh huh." Porthos grinned.
"What on earth did Athos say to him?"
"Don't know," Porthos frowned.
"We never really thought about it." Aramis admitted.
The two friends exchanged a quizzical look. At the time they had not much cared. It was enough to see Garnon snivelling on his knees in the mud, smelling like a stable. After that it had not even been worth beating his miserable hide so complete already was his humiliation.
"I do believe he realised that our good friend Le Comte de la Fère outranked him." Aramis decided.
"That would explain what happened next." Porthos agreed.
"There's more?" D'Artagnan looked at his empty glass "If there's more I'm going to need something else to drink."
"Oh no, you don't," Aramis vetoed that. "Athos will skin all of us alive if you report for your first day of duty looking the worst for wear."
"Porthos is still drinking."
"I've had more practice," His friend mocked lightly saluted him with his glass. "You need to build these things up gradually."
"How am I supposed to do that if I you won't let me drink?" d'Artagnan asked slightly petulantly.
"Alright, but no more after this," Aramis relented as he topped up his glass. "Treville doesn't take it kindly if his men are late for morning muster and a wounded shoulder will do nothing to improve his temper."
"Please tell me Athos challenged Garnon?" d'Artagnan looked hopeful.
"He couldn't," Porthos shook his head. "Red Guards are fair game, as long as you don't get caught. Treville hates them almost as much as we do. The occasional fist fight he might overlook or assign extra duties depending on what happened. But the Captain won't stand for any duelling among the ranks."
"He has the King's ear on that, draw on a fellow musketeer and it means instant dismissal." Aramis agreed.
"So, they didn't fight?" belatedly d'Artagnan was beginning to think he might have had just a little too much to drink after all.
"Didn't say that. Garnon drew his head in for a bit, but we knew was too good to last," Porthos looked grave. "Coward that he is he waited until he could turn the odds in his favour and even then he cheated."
"We had just returned to the city after a week on the King's business. We were tired, more than slightly drunk and just a little bit sloppy," Aramis looked pained. "Garnon chose that moment to challenge Athos against everything our brother hood stands for."
"Athos rightly refused to draw. He was walking away when Garnon ran him through from behind." Porthos scowled.
"Athos was forced to draw in self-defence but the wound was deep and bleeding freely so that when he moved to engage it drove him to the floor."
"Athos just managed to block Garnon's blade using his left arm before he collapsed. There was no way we was going to let him die like that."
"Porthos laid Garnon out with a single punch," Aramis raised his glass in a small toast to his friend. "It was truly some of his best work, the nose was completely shattered and the blood was everywhere."
"Aramis took care of Athos," Porthos put in. "It needed fifteen stiches to close up the wound on his shoulder."
"That many?" d'Artagnan paled.
"At the time I thought it might be beyond my skill." Aramis paused, lost in the pain of it all. "Despite my best efforts infection set in and he was wracked with fever for days. For a while I truly thought we would lose him."
"Why does Garnon still live?" d'Artagnan demanded.
"What were we supposed to do?" Porthos retorted, slamming his glass on the table for emphasis. "We had to keep the matter from Treville. We blackmailed Garnon into keeping his mouth shut and I told Treville the fault was mine. Athos and I had been training and I had misjudged the distance."
"You told him it was an accident?" d'Artagan could not believe this.
"Given severity of the wound Treville was not best pleased, or entirely convinced, but nor was he willing to dig too deeply. At that time, Porthos had not done as much sword work as Athos or I so the story had some validity." Aramis observed.
"Oh well, that makes everything alright," d'Artagnan scoffed, before surging to his feet. "Garnon cheated and then almost killed Athos. He should at the very least have lost his commission. He should be dead!"
"Right or wrong Athos still drew," Aramis pointed out, rising in his turn to grip d'Artagnan by the arm and give him a little shake. "If Garnon was expelled from the regiment Treville would have had no choice but to expel Athos also. And that would kill him surer than any blade. We won't let that happen. Not then and not now. You understand?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Can I assume, from all the shouting, that you have told him everything?" Athos put in from the doorway.
AN - The Comte de Lyon did exist and was relatively important but as this is a fictional story and Athos' title is largely fictional too I am going to assume Athos as the titular holder can outrank a youngest son. Rather to my own surprise I discovered that the term adulterer may also be applied to single people who sleep with others who are married, (sorry Aramis), Also historically speaking although any duel was technically illegal I realise in the climate of the time it would be nigh on impossible for even Captain Treville to prevent his men from fighting but I rather liked the idea that Musketeers should not challenge each other and it is rather essential to the the final outcome so I hope you will indulge me. Thank you for reading.