Another one before I go away again for the weekend! HAPPY PRIDE TO YOU ALL, may love flourish! I do think someone should write a story of the boys in the parade… Any takers?
Nine.
Both Aramis and d'Artagnan were standing next to their horses, looking at each other before looking at their mares. Tacking them up had been difficult, both of them almost dropping the heavy saddles on top of themselves as neither Aramis' back nor d'Artagnan's ribs would allow them to lift anything that heavy over their heads. They finally succumbed to just ride bareback instead. Now actually getting up onto the horses proved an even more difficult task.
"I thought you said you'd taken the horses out while I was having my beauty sleep?" Aramis asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"For walks. I haven't actually ridden."
Aramis face showed his surprise to d'Artagnan's words.
"I know you would all have been yelling at me if I had been riding, alone, with these ribs. Especially you."
Aramis smiled shyly. He would've for certain, had he not been so focused on stilling his hunger. He didn't need to say anything, d'Artagnan knew what he was thinking as he put a hand on Aramis' shoulder.
"I might be young and impulsive, but I'm not always as stupid as you think I am."
Aramis grinned as he walked Belle over to the fence nearby the stable, carefully climbing up onto it, Belle moving closer to him, he just slid his leg over her back and eased down carefully. One of his hands went out underneath her long mane and scratched at the base of it, Belle flinging her head carefully. She was happy to be back with him, he was happy to be on her back again. He leaned forward as much as his back would allow him to, whispering in her ear.
"Mon chérie, you have to promise to take care of me now, I am not as steady as usual up here. So careful where you put your feet, will you?"
Belle's head bounced, as if she understood what he was saying, and Aramis patted her neck again as he steered her aside, allowing d'Artagnan to mount Buttercup in the same way he had mounted Belle. D'Artagnan got up with little discomfort, giving Buttercup a pat on the neck as well before the two of them headed off along the road. They stayed on the road, not wanting to get to far out into the forest, and they remained at walk. This was mostly to allow their mares some time out of the stable, but it was also like cleansing for their souls. Both of them knew everything could get better the minute they mounted their horses, even just for a stroll in the park.
They rode in silence for quite some time, the scenery of the French countryside laid out before them, the sun up and about but a cool breeze making sure it didn't get too hot. They rode through a little town with kids happily playing with buckets of water, women casting looks of admiration towards them before blushingly turning away. They kept going, leaving the little town behind them, coming out to nothing but open fields where farmers were working hard with the year's harvest.
An hour had passed without anyone of them saying a word, just letting their horses walk on and allowing the road to lead its way. Aramis had no clue where they actually were, but d'Artagnan had walked this road only yesterday and knew it lead them in a circle, so following it would lead them back to the inn.
Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, both thinking the same thoughts. Wondering where their two friends were at the moment, and what they were doing. Had they caught Bastien? Were they heading back here? Were they dead?
D'Artagnan peaked over to have a look at Aramis, the man deep in thought, just completely lost in his own mind, and d'Artagnan suddenly realized there were tears quietly making their way down Aramis' cheeks. Aramis face was like cut in stone, like he hadn't even registered that he was crying. But he sure was.
D'Artagnan had only seen him crying once before, and that was during the aftermath of Marsac's death. That night, the three of them had refused to leave Aramis' side, him telling them he didn't want the comfort, but he secretly did. He had told them to get out, he had even yelled at them to get out, but the three of them had refused, scared of what Aramis might do in that state of sorrow.
Athos had walked up to Aramis, putting a hand on his shoulder, telling him there was no way they would be leaving. Aramis had responded fast, and brutally.
Aramis had grabbed Athos by the collar of his doublet, and violently shoved him into the wall with great force. D'Artagnan knew that Athos would be sore after that, his head had bounced off the stone wall and the bruises on his back the upcoming days had told the story, but right then and there, Athos hadn't even flinched as Aramis had pounded on him with loose fists, no energy left to inflict any damage. Athos had put a hand up to Porthos and d'Artagnan to keep them away, allowing Aramis to get his emotions out, until energy left him, having Aramis grabbing a steady hold of his collar again, as to ground himself as his knees buckled.
Athos followed him to the floor, wrapping his arms around Aramis and holding him hard as he completely broke down, his tears appearing endless as he heaved in sorrow against Athos' chest. He had been inconsolable, crying until he begun coughing, coughing until he retched onto the wooden floor. During the entire time, none of them had said anything more than soothing words, one of Athos' arms pressing the violently trembling Musketeer towards his chest, his other hand twirling the fingers through Aramis sweaty hair.
That was the first time d'Artagnan had witnessed a full-blown panic attack, and he had felt so small, so helpless as Aramis had been so thoroughly heartbroken and vulnerable. He didn't want Aramis to go down that path again, because he wasn't sure the man could handle it in this state. He had to get him on another train of thoughts, had to get the man think about something else for a second because he knew Athos and Porthos hadn't left his mind for a moment since they left. He had woken every night from Aramis' nightmares, where he had been shouting for his friends not to leave him, not to leave him behind.
At first, d'Artagnan had almost felt a sting of jealousy, as if Aramis didn't trust him, but then he suddenly recalled Savoy, and Aramis terrible fear of being abandoned. Two of his brothers leaving him to ride off into danger probably didn't help those distressed memories and fears, and d'Artagnan had settled to sit with Aramis, assuring him they would return.
D'Artagnan was certain if he was trying to convince himself or Aramis, but he had faith. He knew just how good those two men could be, especially when there was no other choice. They were like Gods, all three of his brothers, they could just get themselves out of any situation and d'Artagnan hoped this would not be any different. He just had to keep hope, what else could he do?
Right now, he had to talk to Aramis, he had to get other thoughts into his head before the man broke down completely. Belle waving her head gave him a topic.
"Hey, Aramis."
Aramis quickly raised his arm to his face, wiping the tears away as if he had suddenly realized he was not alone.
"It's okay." D'Artagnan assured him. He didn't want the man to feel ashamed of crying in front of him. It was a beautiful thing, seeing him so human and loving. "Let's talk about something."
"About what?" Aramis asked, his eyebrows frowning in confusion. Where was the lad going with this?
"Tell me about how you found Belle." D'Artagnan suddenly asked, proud of himself for coming up with a topic about something Aramis loved and cherished, and would also probably make of a pretty good story.
Aramis smiled, his hand instinctively found its way in underneath her long mane again. His beautiful Belle. He finally understood what d'Artagnan was doing, trying to force him to think of something else, and he was grateful for it. He needed something else to think about, just for a second, and he took a breath before telling d'Artagnan the story.
"I first laid eyes upon her whilst still in Spain, nine years ago… Or was it ten? That doesn't matter. She was five years old at the time, of pure Spanish blood, and even though her age, she had not yet been broken. And she was fierce – 'Salvaje' had been her nickname. Untamed. Wild. She would not let herself be shoved around, she wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do, and she would lash out with both teeth and hind legs if needed be. I, of course, could not tear my eyes from her."
...
No, Aramis had not been able to tear his eyes away from her, she had been the most beautiful horse he had ever laid eyes upon. There was so much fire in the horse, and he instinctively knew she had be his, and he would be hers.
He followed the horse around for days, watched as men tried to calm her, tried to ride her, just tried to handle her. He didn't want to get too close because he knew how angry a lot of people could be when someone approached their horses without permission, so he stayed in the shadows and just observed the stunning horse as she reared up, shoving a man aside in the move.
It was several days later when Aramis rounded a corner as he saw the men with their swords drawn, Salvaje backed up into a corner with ropes tied to her legs and neck. They were going to put her down and they were not going to be gentle about it. He had heard rumours about the horse, that she had kicked a man into his grave, and he now feared that they would not go easy on her.
So he ran.
Before he had time to get there, a big man with a broadsword slashed at her, leaving a long and wide gash along her shoulder. The horse snorted loudly in panic, desperately trying to twist her way free of the ropes, but just forcing them deeper through her skin. The white in her eyes was showing as her eyes rolled back, and she was backing up into the corner as far as she could, her hind legs going out underneath her as she sunk down for a second, only to struggle her way up, charging towards the men. The ropes held her back though, and the men just laughed at her efforts to protect herself.
"Not so cocky now are you, Salvaje?" The man who had swung the sword said, roaring with laughter as he lifted his sword again.
He never had time to strike another blow before Aramis came rumbling straight into him with his own sword drawn. The fight had been short, but effective. The men had been farmers, not soldiers like Aramis was, and it only took him a few moments to disarm all five men, who were now backing away from him as he put himself in between the men and the horse who was standing still, panting hard.
"That horse deservse to die! She killed Lorenzo!" One of the men shouted angrily at him in Spanish, but Aramis kept his cool, answering back, calmly, in Spanish.
"This horse will not die, and you will not touch her again. I will take her off your hands and be gone before you know it."
"You're a fool if you think you can handle her. But by all means – if you can get her out of her, then do so!"
The men picked up their swords and left, leaving Aramis alone with the panting horse. Aramis took a few calming breaths, sheathing his sword and then turned to the mare. He walked up to her carefully, and gently put a hand on her neck. She immediately flinched, trying to move away from his touch, her eyes still rolling and her breath panting. Aramis didn't say anything, he didn't move. He just still still, his shoulders low, head bopped forward, with his hand on her neck. He was waiting her out.
He had once been told that you can 'command a gelding, ask a stallion, but a mare needs a written letter three days ahead asking for permission'. He hadn't had time to write her, but he was now asking for her permission, asking her if he was allowed to help her. And it was probably the first time in her short life that someone had not immediately demanded something out of her.
It took a good fifteen minutes before the stubborn mare finally evened out her breathing and he could feel her relax under his fingers. Permission granted. Not until then did he start working on the ropes, carefully and gently untying them. He could've pulled up his knife and cut her loose, but he was afraid that the steel blade would spoke her again. So instead he tried to undo all the knots that had been tightened by her pulling at them.
She was on guard, but didn't move a muscle as he pulled away the last of the ropes from her sweaty body. He took a step away from her, and after a moments hesitation, she followed, one step forward. Aramis was still slumbering forward, careful not to make himself look threatening in any way, as he put his back towards her, and took another three steps. She followed, curious to whom this gentle man was. He took five more steps. She followed, and this time walked all the way up to him, and gently lowered her chin towards his right shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. He didn't move. They remained in that position for a long couple of minutes before she moved her head, and Aramis started walking again, and this time he didn't stop until he had reached his lodgings, reached the stable behind the back of the building.
Then he waited. And he didn't have to wait long, just a few seconds later she appeared around the corner, walking straight up to him with determination in her eyes. She followed him into the stable, into an empty, big box filled with straw, and he could see her relax. Leaving the stable door open to make sure she didn't feel locked in, he walked over to grab a bucket of water and some rags, dipping the rags before carefully beginning to clean the wound to her chest. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but it was long, and even though he could feel her tense under his fingers, she didn't move a muscle. As he was finished, he sat down into the straw and leaned his back against the wall. And before he knew it, he was drifting off to sleep.
When he woke up, the mare was sprawled out into the straw, her head comfortable and warm in his lap. Aramis had put a hand under her cheek and scratched gently.
"You're not a beast. You are beautiful as a ray of the sun. Big, brave and fearless. If you allow me to ride and train you, I will bring you with me to Paris where I will try to earn my commission with the Musketeers, and you will be my pride and joy. No one will ever harm you again, 'cause I would not allow it. You would be under my protection."
As if she had understood him, her eyes opened as her ears prickled towards him. A soft sound escaped her throat, almost a sigh.
"I will protect you with my life, Belle." Aramis whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her head, not actually realizing he renamed her in that moment. "And I will not expect anything more, nor anything less, of you than for you to do the same for me."
…
"That's a beautiful story Aramis, and so noble of you." D'Artagnan smiled as Aramis finished his story. Aramis smiled back, and it wasn't until then d'Artagnan noticed the colour change in the man's face, as he was suddenly turning more and more pale. D'Artagnan ushered Buttercup up close to Belle and came to a halt, Belle stopping as well as she felt her master sway on her back. D'Artagnan put a careful hand around the small of Aramis' back, steadying him.
"I'm fine. Just got a bit woozy there for a second." Aramis laughed it away with a hand towards his face. He had been just as surprised by the nausea passing through him as d'Artagnan had.
"You're still weak, and still recovering. No good in you exerting yourself now. We have been out a lot longer than we should, but I think we're almost back at the inn, we've been doing a big circle around the area."
Aramis didn't answer, his hand was back to his face, trying his best to focus at not getting sick. D'Artagnan grabbed onto his waterskin, pressing it to Aramis' lips and Aramis drank gratefully, emptying the skin.
"Can you ride back? Or should we walk?"
"I can ride." Aramis said, determined as he carefully stretched his back, wincing as he did. D'Artagnan put the waterskin back to his belt before turning Buttercup around to get her on the right path, before pressing her back into walk, Belle following the command. D'Artagnan never let go of Aramis though, even though his protests rang loudly at the beginning, telling d'Artagnan sternly that he didn't need someone to hold his hand. D'Artagnan let him whine, but kept Buttercup close and an arm around Aramis' back at all times. Soon enough, Aramis' energy was draining out completely and he was too tired to even argue.
By the time they arrived back to the inn though, D'Artagnan was the main reason to Aramis still on Belle's back. He had slumbered completely against d'Artagnan's shoulder, too overcome with exhaustion just from the quiet ride, and he was in great need of rest. D'Artagnan silently beat himself up for taking Aramis on this long ride, and promised his friend that when they rode back to Paris they would stop a lot more often than they usually did.
It took all of d'Artagnan's energy to get his fellow brother up the stairs, and into a bed. He then laid down next to him in the bed, too tired himself to move over to the bed he'd been using, and soon the two of them were napping peacefully, cradling each other in comfort.
So I like horses, and there's not many things I find as sacred as the bond between a horse and its rider. And there's always a story behind it. I covered the boys and their horses, which I loved writing but really has nothing to do with the story, lol! I should just get on with it and reunite the boys, right?