"My apologies," Aramis was the first to respond, his voice full of contrition. Athos was supposed to be resting, instead the dark shadows under his eyes stood out starkly against his unusually pale complexion. "We should not have disturbed you. Please feel free to go back to bed."
"Or since you are up anyway, there's brandy," Porthos offered. "I'm guessing you weren't doing all that much sleeping."
"Not as much as I needed," Athos acknowledged as he sat down and scrubbed a hand over his face, as if that could help rub out the remaining traces of his nightmares. His skin still pricked with cold, clammy sweat. "Rather more than I wanted."
D'Artagnan felt slightly ashamed of himself as he saw Aramis and Porthos exchange a look of concern over Athos head. Watching Aramis add more wood to the fire, feeding the flames so that Athos would not get a chill and Porthos move to fetch a fourth glass so he could be restored by the warmth of brandy he wondered how he could ever have let his anger let him lose sight, even for a moment, of how devoted these men were to each other.
"Brandy," Porthos spoke decisively, putting the glass down in front of Athos and filing it to the brim. "Best cure for a bad night's sleep, unless you want me to punch you again?"
"That won't be necessary this time, thank you," Athos picked up the glass and drank it down in one. Porthos refilled it without comment. Athos glanced up at the others. "I think you two should probably both sit down."
They took it as the order it was intended to be and settled back at the table, Aramis stretching his long legs out in front of him and d'Artagnan looking everywhere except at the faces of his friends.
"How many times?" Athos asked calmly, raising a brow at Aramis.
"Five." Aramis admitted reluctantly.
"Five?" Athos frowned. "You are quite sure. You don't need a moment to think about it?"
"In his defence, Garnon was trying to provoke us. He even mentioned the beard. You know how touchy he gets about that," Porthos allowed. "Don't be too hard on him."
"Mollycoddling him won't keep him alive," Athos said but there was no heat in his tone, he looked over the top of his glass at Aramis. "I can understand why you were not quite yourself. Are you alright now?"
"He doesn't even realise." Aramis pointed out.
"Indeed. Have you forgotten my lessons so easily?" Athos looked straight at d'Artagnan.
"What?" d'Artagnan straightened up, as he belatedly realised the turn the conversation had taken. Although on reflection perhaps he had been a bit hasty. "Alright, so I was a little upset that Garnon nearly killed you. I shouldn't have shouted and I should have found about more about what really happened before I made any judgment."
"You're right, he really doesn't know," Porthos shook his head at d'Artagnan. "That's not it."
"Earlier this evening there were five occasions when you would have engaged Garnon if Aramis and Porthos had not been there to stop you. Which means by now you would either be dismissed from the regiment or dead." Athos eyed him sternly.
"Nobody told me I wasn't supposed to fight him." D'Artagnan protested.
"They shouldn't have to. You are a soldier now and a King's Musketeer. You need to acquire the discipline not to answer every insult with a sword."
"Sometimes you have to pick your battles," Porthos advised. "Use your head a bit. There are other ways of getting one over on someone other than challenging them to a duel."
"Besides do you really want to meet your end over some meaningless trifle or other?" Aramis wondered. "Imagine what it could look like on your grave stone."
"If you cannot learn to control your emotions they will always control you," Athos reminded him. "You have wits, when you care to remember, it would be a better recourse to try using them instead."
"I won't apologise for caring about you." D'Artagnan remained stubborn on that point.
"And I won't apologise for trying to keep you alive," Athos gave no ground in his turn.
"So, are we good?" D'Artagnan smiled.
"Until the next time you do something rash and almost get yourself killed." Athos tipped his head in fond acknowledgement.
"I will try to avoid that," d'Artagnan vowed sincerely, then his brow furrowed slightly.
"You still have questions." Athos realised.
"If Garnon is a musketeer, why have I not met him before? Where has he been for the last four years? If he has waited this long to return there has to be a reason he has chosen today?"
"We are sorry," Aramis patted his shoulder absently. "This was supposed to be your day. None of this is quite what you deserved."
"I will still be a musketeer tomorrow."
D'Artagnan's gracious reply caused his friends to exchange little glances of affection and approval. Such qualities were exactly why this young man fully deserved to join their ranks.
"If he could Treville would have washed his hands of Garnon," Porthos spoke up. "Instead, he did what he could. Using him as a courier or putting him on ceremonial duties where he could strut around like a peacock without hurting anyone."
"If you had known to look you might have seen him sometimes at the Palace." Aramis looked at Athos, a hint of something in his eyes. "Although, he usually took care to avoid crossing our paths."
"Do you think he wants to discredit Athos?" d'Artagnan worried.
"He can't bring up the duel without exposing his own actions," Aramis reassured. "And Trevillle has the utmost regard for Athos. He would never believe any slur on his character or conduct. It must be something else."
"Well, it's not me," Porthos declared.
"No," Athos did not try to hide his pride at whatever it was Porthos had done. "Garnon would be a fool to underestimate you for a second time."
"What about you?" Porthos looked at Aramis. "Garnon spends a lot of time at court. He might have heard some dangerous gossip?"
"Nothing incriminating," Aramis assured them. "Not recently anyway."
"There is a remote possibility that he might have been recruited by my wife to kill me." Athos admitted.
"I thought you said she was dead?" Aramis frowned.
"It seems I miscalculated," Athos looked uncomfortable. "She would welcome my demise. She has already tried to kill me at least once and may also have had a hand in that business with Gaudet."
"And you did not think it worth mentioning this?" Aramis looked disapproving.
"I believe I just did."
"Wait, you both knew he was married?" d'Artagnan cast a look of betrayal at Aramis. "But that night at the tavern you led me to believe you knew nothing about it."
"In my defence we had only just met you," Aramis pointed out. "And the fact that his wife betrayed him by murdering his brother so he was forced to have her executed is not the sort of thing that generally comes up in polite conversation."
"But then you asked me not to tell them what happened at the manor house," D'Artagnan looked at Athos.
"They worry." Athos admitted.
"We have served together for five years. Without sufficient alcohol Athos has no defence against the nightmares," Aramis observed sadly. He was looking at d'Artagnan but there was no doubt his words were meant for their lieutenant. "It is always the same. He is never in time to save his younger brother, or himself from the torment that it was his own wife that slit Thomas' throat, even though he could have done nothing to prevent it.
"Well, it's definitely not me I never even met the man until tonight." d'Artagnan sought to distract attention from Athos' pain. He squinted at his suddenly empty glass. "Is there any more brandy?"
"Just how much brandy has he had?" Athos' attention sharpened.
"I will fetch some blankets," Aramis evaded the question. "He can sleep on the chaise."
"I'll help." Porthos decided retreat was the better part of valour.
"Why didn't you tell me you sponsored my acceptance into the regiment?" d'Artagnan asked plaintively into the sudden silence.
Athos' ire softened in the face of the boy's raw vulnerability. One of the reasons he was such an outstanding leader of men was his ability to judge what each man needed in order to flourish. And right now the last thing d'Artagnan needed was another scolding.
Moving around the table he took a firm grip on the back of his jacket, hauling him manually upright and steering him towards the chaise. He sat him down on the padded brocade and knelt at his feet as he began to pull off his boots.
D'Artagnan felt oddly comforted as he let Athos take charge. Just the scent of him had begun to mean safety and security. His deft touch conveyed strength and reassurance. But he stubbornly resisted the pull of sleep as he waited for him to answer his question.
"thos." He prompted.
"You would have felt obligated to refuse and that would have been a dreadful waste of your potential." Athos obliged, as he easily pushed the boy down onto the chaise, slipping a pillow under his head and lifted up his legs.
Stretching out on the well stuffed upholstery d'Artagnan wanted to argue that he had had the right to know. He wanted to protest that he would have welcomed Athos support and been grateful for all he had done. Instead his last conscious thought was that his pride would never have allowed him to accept such a generous gift and that Athos knew him better than he did himself.
"He out for the count?" Porthos returned, sounding amused.
"I cannot imagine why,"
Athos spoke icily as he fixed his two comrades with a withering glance, one which had Aramis in particular, shuffling his feet and avoiding his gaze.
"Are we just going to leave him like that?" Porthos wondered.
They all looked down at d'Artagnan, already snoring softly, stretched across the chaise, still dressed in both jacket and breeches with the tan leather pauldron firmly buckled to his right arm.
"It will only awaken him if we try to remove it." Aramis offered.
Given the amount of brandy the younger man had apparently consumed on top of the wine he had already had, Athos privately thought nothing short of the second coming would rouse him just now. Although, when he remembered the fierce pride he had felt buckling the insignia into place he felt equally reluctant to remove it.
"It needs breaking in," He took refuge in practicalities. "A few creases or a scuff or two would be a good beginning."
Aramis carefully spread the blanket he had fetched over the sleeping form, taking a moment to stroke d'Artagnan's hair gently in the process before stepping back.
"You know it is rather unfair to berate him for his lack of judgement and then use it against him." He observed astutely.
"He is too ready to believe the best of people, that in itself will lead him into disaster, he is also entirely too reckless and impulsive for his own good. His tendency to follow his heart rather than his head will most likely be the death of him." Athos observed gruffly.
"He is also brave as they come, loyal to a fault, has the wits to get himself out of the trouble his tongue can talk him into, a resilience of spirit despite the fact that the world has not always treated him kindly, a good heart who is quick to help others and the ability to make even you smile." Aramis gave no ground.
"Got you wrapped around his little finger, he has," Porthos remarked sombrely.
"And his loss would utterly destroy you." Aramis observed quietly. "As is Garnon's true intention."
Athos did not respond immediately. To lose either Aramis or Porthos would be a shattering blow. But they had all met as soldiers. His comrades forged and tempered by their own experiences when they had come together to share their strengths. Athos was bound to them by love, loyalty and their common experience of battle but they all remained very much their own men.
D'Artagnan had come into his life as a young man full of potential. But one cast utterly adrift by the recent loss of his father. In the wake of that, the Musketeers and Athos in particular had all but adopted him. Aramis had developed his skill with a musket. Porthos had tutored him in hand to hand combat. But it was Athos who had been the true architect of d'Artagnan's journey to earn the King's commission as a musketeer.
At first he had thought it was because he saw something of Thomas in the younger man. It was true that dealing with d'Artagnan he often felt that fond exasperation common to big brothers everywhere. However, as they had grown closer he had realised that d'Artagnan reminded him a great deal of his younger self. The man he had been before Thomas was murdered, before he had even met Anne, when everything had seemed possible.
Athos knew he would never marry again. God help him part of him would always love Anne and the part that hated her for her betrayal would not allow himself to be that vulnerable again. Although their age difference was not so great, in d'Artagnan he had recognised a chance to leave a lasting legacy. To give something good back to the world to atone in some part for his failings. And in return, the boy had been a balm to his battered soul.
"I rather fear Garnon may not be satisfied with simply killing him." He said, at last.
They all knew that there were worst things than dying. That there were ways to destroy a man, to strip him of everything he was and leave him a shell of his former self, so that death would seem like a blessed relief.
"Without me he would not be in such danger." Athos berated himself.
"Without you he would not be a musketeer." Aramis was quick to correct.
"And he'd have made a rubbish farmer," Porthos in his turn, was having none of this. "Nothing but all that ploughing and sowing, he would have been bored to tears, not to mention all the mud. You know how he hates getting mucky."
"Nothing to shoot at except birds," Aramis joined in.
"And no reason to wear his sword, except for dancing," Porthos finished. "Now that would have been a proper waste of his talent."
"You are right, of course," Athos allowed himself a fond smile. D'Artagnan would never have been satisfied with such a life, better that he was here with them where they could keep him safe than any other outcome. Still, glancing out the window at the first tendrils of dawn light, Athos had never felt so reluctant to do his duty. "It's time I took my leave. Try to keep out of trouble?"
The three men looked solemnly at each other. As soldiers they knew each leave taking might be their last. It was part of who they were. But not something they ever took for granted.
"Be safe my friend," Aramis shook Athos' hand, his eyes dark with worry. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"That does leave a multitude of sins." Athos observed dryly.
"See, anyone who says you have no sense of humour, hasn't spent nearly enough time annoying you," Aramis laughed as he was once again reminded exactly why he loved this man so much.
"I don't like it," Predictably Porthos was more obviously unnerved as he gripped Athos shoulder tightly taking strength from the warm clasp of his arm he received in return. "You should have one of us with you. What if something happens?"
"The greatest danger is that I shall die of boredom," Athos assured him. In his mind his friends had the more important task "Watch over d'Artagnan for me. Now Garnon knows the love I bear for him he will seek to destroy him. Keep him safe."
The next morning d'Artagnan awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling and a shaft of bright sunlight which sent such a dagger of pain through his forehead that he simply groaned and slammed his eyes tight shut. Not even registering that it was quite possibly much later than he normally awoke.
"Quick, get up," Aramis' voice broke into his thoughts. "We are disgracefully late and Treville will have us guarding the Palace lap dogs if we do not make haste."