Once again, thank you all for the love and support. You make me write faster.
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I hope everyone had a good weekend! I know I did! And you can always trust me to overbook my calendar. I mean, I did manage to squeeze in horseback riding, BBQ with friends, long reining (then bathing and plaiting) four Shetland ponies, doing wedding photography, dinner with the family, enjoying the Pride festival, clubbing in the city, and then a day on the beach! All in one weekend! Then I come home, sit down, relax, and poof - I wrote a new chapter. I feel ridiculously productive.
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Hope you'll like it!
Ten.
"Athos, we have to stop for camp. Athos? Athos!"
Porthos pushed Zad forward into a canter, quickly catching up with the trotting Roger, the long legs keeping good speed with the big, high movements. Porthos leaned forward to carefully grab onto the sleeve of Athos' doublet, and then he immediately forced Zad into a sliding stop, ducking as Athos had his dagger a little bit too close to his face than he was comfortable with. Roger comes to a halt as well.
"Oi, Athos, it's me."
Athos just gives him an apologetic look before sheathing his dagger in the small of his back, shoulders slumbering and mind going back into thoughts. Roger sets off at his majestic trot again and Porthos sighs as he rides up next to Athos again, their knees bumping together, enough for Athos to know he is there. The blue eyes of the leader are staring straight ahead though.
"Stop that, just talk to me." Porthos huffs. He never had the way of words like the rest of his teammates, but it was usually enough anyway.
Athos had been quiet for hours, not making any noise as they had been riding the entire day, ever since they left Treville and Bastien behind. They had been forced to stop by midday though for about three hours when the sun was at its peak, the hot air being too hot for the horses to run in. The sun was now low in the west, sinking down behind the trees. The entire western side of the sky was painted in red, and it was an absolutely fantastic sight. But it also meant that straight after that sunset, it would be pitch dark. Porthos found it was time to raise a camp.
"What do you want me to say?" Athos said solemnly, eyes still focused on the twirling path in front of them.
"We have to make camp. We shouldn't ride through the night."
"I just want to get to Aramis and d'Artagnan."
"You don't think I do? But we got another day's ride before we get there, and we can't push Roger and Zad to do two days full ride without a break. And we need to eat and rest as well, we will be no good to Aramis and d'Artagnan if we arrive there to fall at their feet."
"I'd prefer resting tomorrow at midday when the sun is hot. The night is cool and the morning also, but with the red night sky, we will have another day of hot sun tomorrow."
"When it is evening, you say, 'It will be fair weather; for the sky is red.' And in the morning, 'It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening.'" Porthos quoted, in perfect Latin.
Athos finally broke the focus from the road to look over at Porthos with an eyebrow raised high.
"Matthew, 16:2-3." Porthos smiled.
Athos remained quiet, but the still raised eyebrow told Porthos that was not what Athos was questioning him about.
"Aramis has been trying to teach me the Bible. I mostly do it to please him when he is having a bad day. I don't understand why Latin though, I have a hard time with French as it is."
Athos nodded, before he let a small smile go, taking a breath.
"Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, gust and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds."
Porthos looked utterly confused as he was now turning to Athos with a raised eyebrow. Athos smiled, as he had been talking in English, and quickly translated it to French so that Porthos would understand too.
"So what was that?"
"Shakespeare." Athos smiled. His father had been a fan of William Shakespeare and Athos had worked through every piece of paper written by the man. In the beginning it had been to please his father, but he eventually fell in love with it as well. He read it in English and therefore also learned a new language in the process.
"The playwright you talk of so much?"
Athos nodded, a small smile on his lips. 'Talk of so much' might be a bit exaggerated because Athos never talked much of anything, but to the others in the group, it seemed that Athos could associate pretty much anything they said with something Shakespeare had written.
Porthos grinned. He liked the fact that Athos actually was enjoying something, and he was rather certain that somewhere in one of those saddlebags were at least one play or poetry collection written by Shakespeare. But they were going off topic.
"So we're not stopping tonight?"
"I don't think we should, unless you want us to, or you feel Zad needs it? I know Roger rather run through the night than through the day. If we ride tonight we can rest big part at midday tomorrow, then ride through the night again and we should get to d'Artagnan and Aramis by the morrow after."
Porthos opened his mouth to intervene, but closed it, as he knew Athos was right. As always. How annoying. But that was why he was the leader of their little pack, it had come so naturally and easy for him that both Aramis and himself had just stepped to the side and allowed him to grow into the role.
Athos had joined them five years ago, after that bar brawl, and the beginning had been rough. Athos was never more sober than just being able to stand up by himself, and he didn't speak a word. He just tagged along cause he had nothing better to do. And Porthos and Aramis had been quite convincing as they had dragged him to the garrison. A sword was placed in his hand. Aramis wanted to do a little test, to see what happened if Athos was attacked, as the man stood there swaying in place, drunk enough not to comprehend the world around him.
But the minute Aramis sword was swung against Athos, a fire lit in his eyes, focus was suddenly there, and Aramis' sword flew across the yard just a few seconds later. Aramis had been stunned, Porthos had been stunned, Treville up on the balcony had been stunned and the entire garrison of Musketeers had grown quiet. After that, Athos had found a life worth living in the Musketeers regiment, and as they practiced together, the three of them grew inseparable. As Treville sent them out on missions, he always left Aramis in charge since Aramis was in fact the senior Musketeer out of the three, but the minute they were out of Paris, Aramis would randomly ask Athos what he would do when it came to every decision being settled. It fell so natural to Athos, and he was good at it. Well, not when it came to taking a decision on which route to take, that was…
Porthos sighed and met Athos' eyes. "Okay. Let's ride through the night. But I'm hungry and every part of my body is sore and-"
He didn't have time to finish the sentence before Athos was holding a bottle of wine in his direction. Porthos smiled big enough for all of his teeth to show, and took the bottle from Athos, drinking heavily from it. He handed it back, allowing Athos a drink as well. The men passed the bottle back and forth between them until it ran dry. Athos packed it back down into his bag, and then drifted off into silence again.
Porthos mentally smacked himself for not being the kind of open talker as Aramis was, he was not the best at holding a one-sided conversation and he was never really certain to what to say in an awkward situation. Aramis never seemed to have that problem, he was always chitchatting no matter who was on the other end. Porthos searched his brain but couldn't find a good topic. Instead he nudged Athos' arm with his elbow, Athos responded in looking his way, their eyes meeting.
"Hey. I know you're worried and so am I, but we will be there soon and everything will be alright."
"I just hate the fact that we had to leave them behind."
"Had to are the right words. We had to get to Bastien. And we did. Aramis and d'Artagnan will understand."
"But Porthos. We left Aramis."
Porthos jaw dropped with stunned silence, as he suddenly understood what Athos brain was playing at. Finding Aramis out at Savoy had been nothing short of a nightmare. Aramis was their fool, the always merry and jubilant friend. That early morning, as Athos had pulled him into his arms whilst sinking to their knees in the snow, back in those haunted woods, Aramis had been nothing but a shell of his former self, a panicked and scared fawn who just lost every sense of security, his entire sense of the light world faded into darkness. Athos had promised Aramis right then and there, that he would never desert no matter what, that he would never abandon him, and that he would never leave Aramis behind.
So what did they do? They left him, while he was sleeping. They didn't even give him a chance to complain, to intervene, to say goodbye.
Porthos groaned. Athos nodded in agreement.
"I promised to never leave him behind. And he gets hurt, falls ill with a fever and we leave him. I know he has d'Artagnan there, and d'Artagnan knows of Aramis stress from Savoy, but I don't feel good leaving him. It doesn't feel good leaving d'Artagnan either, but I'm positive he will keep up hope of our return."
"Hopefully he will share it will Aramis."
"I'm certain of that. He's good with Aramis. Keeps him centred. And Aramis is going to need that right now."
"I know who the lad is even better for." Porthos grinned, sending Athos a grin.
Athos raised an eyebrow again, but Porthos could see the smirk on his face along with it. Athos knew so well that they had all changed the last year, the lad coming into their group had changed everything they knew about themselves and the year had been a busy, intense one with many missions, a lot of trouble, angst, drama, tears, worry, anger, hurt… and so much glorious laughter. Athos had opened up, page by page. Porthos and Aramis had learned more about Athos the last year than they ever did during the five years before the young boy from Gascony put a gun to his head. And Athos actually appeared quite… well happy might not be the right word, but at least he was less suicidal. Taking smaller risks, as he was actually trying not to injure himself. He was still drinking but not all the way into oblivion. There were small signs, but Porthos and Aramis embraced it nonetheless.
"Oh, he's a good lad." Athos sighed, his cheeks turning a slighter shade of pink.
"You're training him for leadership." Porthos stated.
"Nonsense."
"You're expecting him to be a leader, maybe even become Captain one day." Porthos continued. It was not a question, it was just another statement.
"Would that be so bad?"
Porthos smiled widely. "Of course not. I'm just saying you do have a soft spot in your heart, and d'Artagnan is bouncing on the pillows. It's nice to watch."
Athos snorted. Even though he knew Porthos was completely right. He was so immensely proud of d'Artagnan and how much he had developed during the year. He had really grown into the role of a Musketeer, and Athos was certain that he could be one of the finest soldiers the regiment had ever witnessed. He just needed the right training, from all of them, and he would soon take any of them down in their own speciality.
Athos felt like a proud big brother, something he had never felt for Thomas. There had never been that bond, and Athos could not remember Thomas ever giving him a reason to feel proud. They hadn't know each other, they never spoke more than what was required of courtesy, and Athos had always had a gnawing feeling that something was not right. He never said so of course, he couldn't speak ill of his brother, and he could not speak ill of someone who was loved by all.
But as Athos was drinking in the darkest of the halls, he would hear rumours, names never mentioned by he would understand anyway. Filthy rumours, about a very young but oh so handsome man, charming women out of their clothes in the alleys, then doing unthinkable things to them without consent. And in the same time, women seemed to turn up dead in the gutters.
The dead cannot bear witness.
When Anne had set the estate on fire, with him inside of it, she had called Thomas a hypocrite. The last words Athos had heard from his younger brother, words that had been screamed down their halls as Athos had been running up the stairs to the sound of his brother and his wife fighting, the last words his brother had uttered to his ears was calling his wife a murderer. And she had used the word hypocrite, as she had been standing there with her clothes torn, with Thomas' dagger in her hand. And how did he respond?
He had her hanged.
No, he had never felt proud of Thomas. But d'Artagnan made him feel proud every day. Proud to be his mentor, proud to be his comrade, proud to be his friend, and proud to be his brother. D'Artagnan was everything that Athos had wished of Thomas, and he was not about to just let this lad go. He would train him to be the best he could possibly be, train him to act as a leader, making him into someone others would look up to.
Making d'Artagnan feel proud of himself.
And yeah quotes from the Bible and Shakespeare. I have honestly read more Shakespeare than the Bible, and I hope I quoted it right. No offense meant! Just love! :)