Two.
"It's getting dark, we should try and find some shelter for tonight."
"Do you think it will rain?" Aramis asked, looking up at the sky where dark clouds were rolling in as the sun was fading in the west.
"Most likely. It always seems to be raining whenever we can't find any shelter." Athos sighed, really not fond of riding, nor sleeping, in the rain. He preferred the scabby beds of the various inns located alongside the dirty roads. The majority of them had roofs and four walls. And every single one had wine. They were after all in France, thank God.
"Speaking of that."
At the sound of d'Artagnan's voice behind them, they all looked up to be met with a very welcoming sight – a small inn, but there was smoke coming from the chimney, and lights flickered in the windows. The four men rode up to it, and as Aramis, Porthos and Athos took care of their captive, d'Artagnan led all the horses into the barn by the back of the inn. He was glad these horses were all so easy to handle, he knew that if he led one or two of them, the others would just follow.
He found the stable boy who helped him untack the horses, and brush them off, checking their feet and making sure they all had plenty of hay and fresh water in their buckets. He dug in Aramis' saddlebag for carrots that he handed out to all the horses, before grabbing all of their stuff, and making his way to the inn.
He had barely made it inside before the sky opened up a mad rainfall over their world. D'Artagnan stopped in the door for a second, impressed with what kind of luck finally settled over them. With a big smile on his face, he turned around to meet the stone-face of Athos.
"What? Oh please Athos… Don't tell me they don't have any rooms? Really? Well, I can sleep in the bar, or maybe with the horses…"
"Well, they do. But they only have one. We all have to share."
D'Artagnan rose his eyebrow in questioning, wondering why this was so bad. They were all dry, inside a house heated by several fireplaces, and from what he could tell by the bottle in Athos hand, they had wine to serve as well. It couldn't be that bad sharing a room with his three best friends… and a criminal described in the lower world of France as 'completely mad.'
A couple of hours passed, filled with wine, card games and Aramis with a woman in his lap, the musketeers made their way up into their bedroom to try to get a few hours of sleep. Well, at least three of them, as Aramis was nowhere to be found anymore. They weren't worried though. They knew very well he was somewhere in the area, considering the beautiful lady was missing as well. And with the rain and wind still going strong outside, he wouldn't have gone far.
Entering the room, they were pleased that Bastien was still tied properly to the corner in the room, lying down on some blankets, seemingly sleeping deeply. Walking for hours each day seemed to have tired him out all right, and he had been sleeping like a babe each night they put him down for his rest. His hands and legs were still tied, and no one had ever gotten out of Athos' knots before.
Porthos crawled into bed, and d'Artagnan looked with a raised eyebrow in question to how they would all fit in that small bed. Porthos himself took half of it. Deciding it was better to get into the comfy bed straight away though, while there was still room, he crawled his way down under the blanket, the heat of Porthos immediately present.
Athos smiled as he sat down by the small table in the room, popping the cork of another bottle. His feet up on the vacant chair in front of him, he leaned back in his seat and enjoyed the bottle in his hand. D'Artagnan couldn't help but to wonder which bottle that was. The third? Fourth? He knew Athos drank a lot but this felt excessive.
Porthos hand was suddenly on his shoulder.
"Don't worry 'bout Athos. He sleeps better with the wine."
"Yeah, but…"
"No, let 'im go." Porthos sighed, leaning his forehead towards d'Artagnan's shoulder. It only took him a couple of minutes to drift off to sleep. The second his breathing evened out as he drifted off to the land of dreams, his mouth opened slightly and some of the loudest snores d'Artagnan had ever heard in his life was suddenly tearing at his eardrums.
Jumping slightly, not prepared to that loud noise, d'Artagnan sighed heavily. How was he supposed to be sleeping with that ogre rumbling next to him? Always looking to his leader for guidance, he saw Athos with a smirk, holding out a bottle in his direction.
D'Artagnan was out of bed in a moment, Porthos snores pausing for a second to let out a whimper as the extra heat disappeared. D'Artagnan stopped and looked over his shoulder as the snores stopped, but ended up sitting down on a hard chair next to Athos, happily drinking straight from the bottle.
No words were uttered, and no words were needed as the two men passed the bottle back and forth between them. Athos was deep in thought, his mind seemingly miles and miles away from the little inn, and d'Artagnan couldn't help but to feel sorry for him. He was beating himself up a lot more than any man ever deserved to do. But he also knew that pressing the matter wouldn't help.
After everything had gone down with them shooting each other and Milady's departure, Treville had sent them on this mission. He had told them that they were the best suited for the job, they were the finest of the regiment and Bastien was no one who should be handled lightly. But all four of them were positive that Treville had sent them just so they could have two weeks on the road to clear their heads. He had told them to take their time, told them to tire Bastien out before arriving to Paris so he wouldn't make too much of a fuss.
All of them knew Treville was sending them on a calm mission because holidays didn't exist in their books. This was as close to it as any of them would ever come.
Athos let his head fall back as the last drops from the bottle hit his tongue. D'Artagnan could already feel his head turning faster than his eyes, remembering how bad he was at holding his wine. Especially that thick, red wine that Athos preferred. It went straight to the youngster's head.
Athos had noticed, and he nodded towards the sleeping thunderstorm in the bed. "Now maybe the noise will subside."
"Yeah, I think the ringing in my ears will drown him right out." D'Artagnan smiled happily, as he moved back to the bed.
He jumped back in underneath the covers, and was immediately manhandled by Porthos who appreciated the body heat returning, and he was not about to let it go again. This time he wrapped his big arms around d'Artagnan's upper body, pulling him close and snoozing down his nose into the crook of d'Artagnan's neck. That position eased out the snoring, at least a bit, and d'Artagnan drifted off to sleep.
Athos watched them for a long while, before pulling up another bottle. He sat with the bottle in hand for a while, just staring at the green glass of it. He could see his reflection – blurry, but there. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to remember. The last five years, his nightmares had been haunted by his wife hanging from the noose, his wonderful wife, killed by his orders. He had to uphold the law… But now… Now the dreams had been changed. He didn't see her in white anymore, standing on the cart with the blue forget-me-nots in her hands. He didn't see Remy put the noose around her neck, her black curls getting caught underneath it. Oh, Remy. She killed him too.
No he didn't see her underneath the tree anymore. His dreams had taken a turn to the manor, hot flames licking the walls, smoke filling up the rooms that once had held his life, his past disappearing in escalating flames. And there she was, in the middle of it all. Just standing there, holding a torch. Dressed in red and black. Everything was blurry, he couldn't see straight, his mind and senses disobeying him as he had been drinking excessively. Everything was spinning dangerously, the flames licking his feet and arms, the ground disappearing underneath him, the house collapsing on top of him as his life passed him by.
And as he stared at the woman he still loved with every single piece of his broken heart, she raised her hand, and moved the band around her neck to show the permanent scars he had given her. 'The token of your love.'
He did love her. He never stopped loving her. But it was his duty to uphold the law… His duty… Duty…
"Athos?"
A rough hand on his shoulder shook him awake. When did he fall asleep? Athos sat straight in the chair, rubbing his face with his still glove-covered palm, before turning slightly, seeing Aramis leaning down against his shoulder, his hand grabbing Athos' left wrist.
"It was just a nightmare." Aramis said quietly, squeezing his wrist carefully. Only then did Athos notice that he was shaking. He wanted to wave Aramis off, he was not worthy of the affection Aramis was giving him so gently. He was ashamed. He was angry. Most of all, he was hurt.
Aramis had known Athos long enough to see the small changes of emotions. Therefore he let go of the trembling wrist he had been holding, and walked further into the room, placing his weapons on the chair, alongside with his jacket, which had been slung over one of his shoulders.
"You did the right thing you know." Aramis said quietly, not meeting Athos' teary eyes. "It was your duty."
'Shit, am I sleep talking now too?' Athos thought, but remained silent as he uncorked another bottle.
"I know you don't want to talk about it." Aramis continued. "But I hate to see you so damp, my dear friend. I wish you could allow the past to remain behind."
"She's still alive." Athos' voice was barely audible, specially not as it was being drowned out by Porthos' muffled snores.
"You did the right thing. You did the right thing both five years ago, and a week ago. You are an honourable, righteous man Athos, and I wish you could see that yourself. I know you keep looking back into the past, I know you see it every moment no matter if you're awake or not. I just wish you wouldn't look so hard. We should never forget what lies behind us, it shapes us to who we are. But… but maybe you need to start looking ahead."
Athos didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered from the bottle up to meet Aramis' dark eyes, full of concern and worry.
"I'm not going to push you. You can take all the time you need. Just know, when you do want to start walking forward, all of us will be right next to you to lead the way." Aramis smiled lightly, his hand waving over their friends still snuggling in the bed.
Athos remained quiet as he leaned back into the chair, drinking heavily from the bottle, as Aramis gave a small nod his way, before climbing into the bed, spooning up in front of d'Artagnan, a smiled curving on his lips as he dipped his nose into Aramis' long curls.
There's nothing quite like waking by the sound of a rooster right outside your window.
But it sure is effective.
There was a slight panic as everyone tried to get out of the tiny bed at the same time. D'Artagnan only remembered him and Porthos in the bed by the time he laid down, but now there were a lot more flailing arms and legs for it to be just the two of them.
Athos rolled down to the foot of the bed, trying desperately to grab the bottle he stashed down there before anyone would knock it over.
Aramis had already fallen out of the bed, and was now scrambling to his feet, in obvious search for his pistol.
Bastien was up on his feet, back pressed against the wall, eyes wandering trying to locate where he was and what the noise was coming from.
The initial shock had settled over the rest, and Porthos laid back in the bed, sighing heavily, as d'Artagnan rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to keep them open and focused on Aramis who was swaying over to the window, pistol in hand.
"Leave it." Athos growled, sitting with the bottle in his hand.
"Whoever bred roosters to scream their necks off like that deserves a place in the darkest areas of hell." Aramis mumbled, aiming on the rooster who clearly was clever enough to be quiet for a while.
"You remember what 'appened last time you shot a rooster at that guesthouse. All people running, the screaming, the angry owner, my money disappearing to buy 'im a new one… It's not worth it."
Aramis still aimed at the rooster, but decided it was best to follow Porthos' words. He mouthed a quiet 'bang' before putting his pistol away, sighing as he looked around at his comrades. It was quiet the sight. Athos trying to get the buzz out of his head, Porthos laying back down to get some more sleep, d'Artagnan having no clue what to do, and Bastien at the other side of the room, his heart still pounding out through his chest wall.
Aramis grinned as he sat back down into the bed, putting his pistol away among his other things. D'Artagnan had leaned back so he was resting his back towards Porthos' stomach, breathing tiredly. Aramis moved back so he too was leaning towards Porthos, and he slid his fingers in underneath d'Artagnan's puffy shirt, finding the bandage still covering his ribcage, and mostly, covering the stitches to his side where Athos had shot him. He gently peaked under the bandage, seeing the stitches still neat and tight, but the skin around it slightly discoloured.
He wasn't surprised. It had been taken care of well enough at start, but d'Artagnan never had time to let it rest. He had been fighting, running and riding non stop since that day, and of course it was bound to get infected. Aramis had caught it early enough though, understanding what would happen to the wound taking that amount of pressure. Already a few days after, the miscolouring had been bad, and Aramis had kept it under close observation since then, helping to clean it and apply new salve to keep it cool.
"We should probably start moving." Athos sighed as he heaved himself out of bed stopping for a moment as his legs remembered to take his weight.
"Five more minutes…" Porthos mumbled tiredly.
"Then we might miss breakfast." Aramis said with a frown, and then let out a laugh as Porthos heaved himself out of bed without a minute to spare. Popping on his clothes before they even had time to blink, he was by the door before Aramis and d'Artagnan had even left the bed.
"Come on now! Let's eat, I'm starving." The big man said, as he disappeared out through the door.
The breakfast of the inn left a lot more to be desired, but they still left with their bellies full and happy. They went out into the stable, and found their horses happily nibbling some hay. There was a moment of silence as all the men looked over their horses, palpitated their backs and legs, feeling for soreness. All of the horses were a bit stiff from the long rides, but they were all in good shape and all the men nodded to each other before they tacked up their own mounts. Saddles and bridles, followed by saddle bags and weapons at the right places. Taking the horses outside, Athos put some coins into the hand of the stable boy as a thank you, before all of them mounted, and headed for the road.
They had been riding for about twenty minutes before Athos begun squirming in his seat.
"What is it?" Aramis asked, noticing Athos' discomfort.
"I have this feeling that we are forgetting something."
"Weird, I was just having the same feelin'." Porthos nodded.
They all reined in their horses to a halt, as they looked around puzzled at each other for a long, good minutes.
"Hey… Where's Bastien?" Athos suddenly asked, charging Roger around as if Bastien would be right behind him.
"Oh! You took him from the room?" Porthos asked, frowning.
"No, that was your job!" Athos frowned back, eyes meeting Porthos'.
"No, you said 'Got him!'"
"No, I asked 'Got him?'"
"Athos, I am certain I heard you say that you got 'him."
"I remember what I said and I said no such thing since I didn't have him, now did I?"
Porthos got quiet for a moment before realizing they were now not only missing Bastien, but also d'Artagnan and Aramis. Looking up the road back towards the inn, he could see the two of them heading back towards the inn at a fast trot. Porthos and Athos hurried their horses to a trot as well, still nagging each other who were to blame. By the time they arrived back at the inn, Buttercup and Belle were waiting outside the main door. The two men reappeared a moment later with Bastien in the ropes between them.
"That's better. I knew we were forgetting something." Athos nodded, grabbing one of the ropes from Aramis as he turned around Roger ad starting to lead the way back to Paris. Coming up into a crossroads, he turned left, only to shortly after feel heavy tugging at the rope. Looking over his shoulder, he could see his fellow Musketeers and Bastien had all come to a stop, Aramis having a finger pointed to the road leading to the right.
"This way Athos, this way."