Authors Note: Welcome to Whumptober 2023. A collection of one shots and short stories very tentatively inspired by prompts from Tumblr (I went with the list from the non-AI page). These really are loosely inspired by the prompts.

Unfortunately, I have not managed to get them all written yet. I hope to have finished the last nine before I run out of days in October, but that may not happen so the last few may fall into November.

I am an equal opportunity Whumper so everyone gets a turn. Some of the stories are multi chaptered, some are one shots. A couple are continuations from previous years Whumptobers (but you won't need to have read them to understand this year's ones).

I hope you enjoy them as much as I have enjoyed writing them.

D'Artagnan could not find a comfortable position to lie. It did not seem to matter. His injury made lying on his back uncomfortable, lying on his side was impossible, and his other injuries made twisting to lie on his front even more painful.

He lay on his back.

Feeling very sorry for himself.

And embarrassed.

It had been an accident. He had not been injured in defence of his King or protecting the good citizens of Paris. No, he had been injured trying to retrieve the horseshoe they had been using in their game. An overenthusiastic throw had seen the horseshoe caught on a wall too high to easily reach. He had probably had more wine than was sensible and his addled mind thought it was a good idea to clamber up and retrieve it.

His wine-addled mind was not quick enough to prevent him from falling back down, landing over a fence in such a way that the back of his thighs were both now badly bruised. It was true he had bruises and cuts and grazes all over his body, but the bruises at the top of his legs were the worst.

By the time he was able to work out what was happening, he had been carried to the infirmary and stripped off. He was laying on his front whilst Aramis applied a balm or something to the back of his legs that would 'ease the pain'.

And now he was reeling off a list in his mind of each bruise he had acquired during his questionable adventure up the garrison wall.

Movement by the door drew his attention.

Of course, they would come. His friends would not be able to let him suffer alone. Aramis had left him to visit the mess and get him some food and returned with Athos and Porthos in tow.

D'Artagnan looked away, wondering if he could pretend to be asleep, but it was too late.

Porthos was carrying a tray with something in a bowl that was sending up steam and an enticing aroma. He grinned as he placed the tray on the table and moved to stand at the side of the bed. Aramis was on the other side.

'We're going to help you to sit up, it's going to be uncomfortable, but once you're settled it will be easier. Let us do the work or you'll likely cause yourself too much pain and you'll pass out,' said Aramis.

'And Serge would be disappointed if you didn't eat the stew whilst it's still hot,' added Porthos, who was still grinning, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

D'Artagnan allowed Aramis and Porthos to ease him into a sitting position. He screwed his eyes shut for a few seconds, breathing hard. He did not realise he was clinging onto his friends as the pain gripped him.

'Take a moment,' said Porthos, a kindness to his voice that seemed at odds with the impish grin he probably still had.

When d'Artagnan was able to get his breathing under control and open his eyes again he found his friends looking at him with concern. Athos was holding the tray with the bowl of stew, his head tilted to the side.

'We thought you might like some company,' said Athos. 'We thought you might like to know that you are not the only one to have made a … mistake … of that magnitude.'

D'Artagnan looked at each of his friends in turn to find them nodding and smiling.

Athos handed him the tray as Porthos pulled up a couple of chairs. Athos and Porthos sat on one side of him whilst Aramis sat on the other.

'Eat it whilst it's hot and enjoy the tales of stupidity you are about to hear,' suggested Aramis with a smile.

Porthos leaned forward a little, 'my moment of sheer ineptitude was when I was still in the infantry,' he said.

MMMM

Years before…

Porthos had a talent that was frequently abused. And he did not mind, particularly as it made him and his friends' money. His friends would set it up and Porthos would play his part.

What they did was borderline illegal and, if they were ever caught, would lead to them getting in trouble with their Captain. They'd probably be lucky to just get dismissed from the army.

And yet they kept doing it and the money they made out of it kept them in wine and gave them the chance to buy better weapons and clothes.

Porthos watched his friends as they talked to the unsuspecting travellers. The conversation was going well. He waited for his cue.

When Jean gave him the nod, he would wander over affecting his most brilliant drunken walk. Jean and Paul would look annoyed with him and have a go at him for being drunk. The travellers would become smug and complacent thinking they were about to win the bet that had been made. The travellers would think that the boasts of Jean and Paul about Porthos being the best brawler in Paris were not going to be fulfilled because Porthos was drunk and uncoordinated. What followed would be a fight between Porthos and one of the travellers. Porthos would take a few punches, making out he was struggling, before eventually winning the fight and the bet.

Jean leaned back in his chair after shaking hands with the older of the two travellers. Porthos stepped out from his hiding place and started to sing, loudly and out of tune as he stumbled forward. A young woman shepherded her children out of his way. An old man tutted and shook his head. Porthos was a disgrace to the uniform.

Porthos did not care what the people thought, he cared about the coins he would soon have and the tasty pie he intended to purchase on his way back to the garrison.

Paul leapt to his feet and rounded on Porthos; his voice low but loud enough for the travellers to hear the odd word.

'What are you doing?' asked Paul, not waiting for a response from Porthos. 'You're drunk. We just made a bet that you could beat this man's son in a fistfight.'

'Where?' said Porthos, making an exaggerated twist of his head as he searched for his opponents. 'Icantakeim. Whereishe?'

The slurred words only added to his facade. Porthos glanced at the travellers who were grinning at each other. The younger man looked smug.

Porthos tottered forward, his arms up, hands fisted, ready to fight. He made a point of looking slightly to the left of the young man, before switching his focus. Both Paul and Jean had told him his act was good on many occasions.

Jean looked angry, while Paul looked concerned. The older of the two travellers got to his feet and gestured for the pair to stay where they were, he was so sure he was going to win the bet.

Porthos looked at the younger man who also looked sure of himself. Porthos made a show of drunkenly getting himself ready for the fight. He had to stop himself from pausing his act when the younger man got to his feet.

The man was taller than Porthos. He was as broad and looked like he knew how to take a punch. For a few seconds, Porthos wondered if he could take the man on. He wondered if he and his friends should just make a run for it. He was definitely going to have a word with Paul and Jean about who they picked to set up the bet with in the future. Porthos knew he was not going to get off lightly this time.

The young man moved forward, he only needed a couple of steps to reach the space where he and Porthos were to brawl. Porthos made a show of stumbling back to look up at the tall man. He glanced at his friends whilst maintaining his drunken wobble. Both men looked worried. But the older man was practically holding them hostage. Porthos would have to go through with the fight, although he had already decided he would not let the man get in too many free hits before he fought back properly.

He turned to the man. Ready for his fight.

Then he was looking at the blue sky. A bird flew over or was that two birds?

Porthos was confused.

He was supposed to be pretending to see double.

But he really was seeing double.

His friends loomed into view.

'Porthos?' said Jean, worry in his voice and etched on his face each time Porthos could get him in focus.

'Don't try to move,' said Paul. 'You'll be alright. It's just a bang on the head-'

'Just a bang on the head, he's covered in blood,' Jean said.

'Head wounds bleed more,' replied Paul with a shrug.

Porthos blinked a couple of times and realised his head hurt quite a bit.

'What happened?'

MMMM

Now…

D'Artagnan could not help smiling as Porthos went on to explain that the young man had only hit him once. Porthos had been knocked to the ground. The travellers had grabbed their winnings and walked off.

'Your scar?' he asked.

Porthos nodded.

Aramis leaned forward, 'I think he was lucky not to lose an eye.'

Porthos nodded again, 'once Jean and Paul had got me to my feet we managed to get back to the garrison. Our Captain thought we'd just been in a normal fight. We were mucking out the horses for two weeks as punishment for fighting on duty. I spent most of those two weeks sitting in the corner of the stables trying not to move. Worst bang on the head I've ever had.'

'Did you try that bet again on anyone else?'

Porthos shook his head, 'I think we learned our lesson that day.'

Aramis smirked, 'you don't often tell people the real story behind that scar.'

Porthos shook his head, 'not sure the cadets would be as respectful if they didn't think I'd got that in battle and valiantly continued fighting.'

D'Artagnan chuckled, then winced, as his injuries smarted. Porthos relieved the injured man of his food tray before looking towards Athos. Athos looked down for a moment gathering his thoughts.

'It was years ago,' said Athos. 'It was before I even thought about joining the army.'

MMMM

Years before…

Athos strolled along the city road. His father had allowed him to accompany him on a rare visit to Paris and then left him to his own devices whilst he worked. Athos had no idea what his father was doing, nor did he care. Athos had coins in his pocket, and he intended to enjoy his chance to explore the city.

Someone brushed against him as he moved along one of the busier thoroughfares. Athos glanced around in time to see a diminutive woman, perhaps a girl, walking away. She wore tatty clothes. She was not dirty but clearly did not have wealth. The woman paused for a moment before continuing on her way and rounding a corner. Athos took a couple of steps forward before realising what had happened.

His coin purse was gone.

The young woman had stolen it from him.

Athos could barely contain his anger. He turned and walked back the way he had come and stopped at the corner where he had last seen the woman. She was nowhere in sight.

'Are you alright, monsieur?'

Athos turned to find a man watching him. The man had his head tilted to the side, he was leaning forward slightly, an enquiring expression on his face. He was dressed well.

'You look a little lost, perhaps I could help you?'

'A woman, she just stole my money,' said Athos.

He realised he was breathing quickly, the anger threatening to overwhelm him.

'The wretch,' said the man, 'come, let us follow where she went, perhaps we will see her.'

Athos nodded, and walked off purposefully, along the road. The man was soon walking in step with him. The man was charming, he told Athos what to look out for in the city, and how to avoid becoming the victim of a theft a second time.

'For example, what do you have in your bag there?' asked the man.

Athos rested his hand on the small bag.

'What's left of my money,' he said. 'And a dagger my grandfather gave me.'

Athos smiled at the memory of the day his beloved grandfather presented the small dagger to him. It would not be much use in a fight, but Athos liked to keep it with him as a memory of the old man after he died.

The man nodded, 'I would suggest not carrying the bag like that,' he said. 'You are making it too obvious that it contains valuable things.'

Athos was confused. He could not work out how else he could carry the bag. The man gestured for Athos to hand the bag over.

MMMM

'You didn't?' said d'Artagnan.

Athos nodded; his expression regretful.

'The man grabbed the bag, pushed me over and ran,' said Athos. 'By the time I had got to my feet, he was gone. I learned a valuable lesson that day.'

'But you got the dagger back, didn't you?' asked Porthos.

Athos nodded, 'I was with my father the following day and we spotted it for sale in one of the markets. My father made me pay him the cost of buying it.'

Athos pulled the small dagger from his belt, its blade shone brightly.

'I have it with me all the time,' he said. 'As both a way to remember my grandfather and the lesson my father taught me.'

D'Artagnan shook his head, 'you were young and naive,' he said. 'I think your father could have forgiven you.'

Athos shook his head, 'he had specifically told me not to go where I went and not to talk to anyone. I was stupid not to listen to him.'

D'Artagnan was still surprised, 'I can't imagine you as a young man.'

Athos scowled at him.

'Not that you're old now,' d'Artagnan hurriedly added.

Athos smirked, and Porthos huffed a laugh.

'Well, I think you should rest for a bit,' said Aramis as he got to his feet.

'Oh no,' said Porthos. 'If we're doing this, we're all doing this.'

Aramis sat back down and rolled his eyes, 'thought I might have got away with it.'

D'Artagnan turned to look at his friend, 'so what did you do? I bet it involves trying to impress a woman.'

Porthos huffed another laugh. Athos slapped him on the arm.

'No,' replied Aramis after a pause, 'I was trying to impress Porthos.'

D'Artagnan could not hide his confusion.

'Rather like your unfortunate adventure,' said Athos. 'Wine was involved.'

MMMM

Years before…

Aramis knew he had drunk too much but that was not going to stop him. Porthos' boast was too tempting. There was no way Aramis could not achieve the same thing. The fact that he had not actually seen Porthos do it was beside the point. Their friends all said he had done it. And Aramis was determined to do it too.

He looked at the water under the bridge, the rocks that protruded created little eddies and changes in the current, swirling loops of foamy water carrying leaves and twigs across its surface.

There were enough gaps in the rocks. He would not hit any if he fell. And, anyway, Aramis was not going to fall. Porthos had not fallen.

The narrow wall along the side of the bridge that provided safety to those crossing over, was crumbling in places from disrepair. That was one of the things that made Porthos' boast more impressive. Although Aramis knew Porthos was not some lumbering fool, he was light on his feet and had cat-like reflexes. Aramis liked to think he had those things as well, even with a couple of cups of wine in him. He would still be the best shot, why would his ability to walk along a wall be compromised?

He was aware of Jean and Paul talking to the other gathered men, they were taking bets. Aramis wondered how much money the conniving pair would make. Porthos had put the idea into Aramis' head, but Jean and Paul were never far away.

Aramis pulled off his weapons belts and shrugged out of his doublet. Some of the men shouted encouragement. One or two called him a fool. But Aramis was determined. He had to prove to Porthos that anyone could walk along a wall.

Porthos was grinning, he took a hefty swig of his wine and indicated for Aramis to carry on. Aramis pulled himself up and stood on the wall. At either end of the bridge, the wall was wider giving him a few feet of stone to steady himself for the walk across. If he fell off onto the bridge, he would end up with bruises and grazes. If he fell into the river, he would either end up wet or wet with potential broken bones if he hit one of the rocks.

But he would not fall off.

The first few stones on the top of the wall were still whole with no cracks or crumbling areas. Aramis confidently walked forward. The men watching were quieter now. There was some mumbling, and some money was changing hands.

Porthos was walking alongside him, Aramis realised his friend was walking close enough to grab him if he fell. Aramis knew that was unnecessary.

As he reached the first section of crumbled stone he slowed and concentrated on where he would place his feet. The men around him fell silent. The sound of the unrelenting river a few yards below him was all that he could hear.

Some of the stones sloped away from the river and some towards it. Aramis placed his right foot and leaned forward for a second before moving his left foot. He slipped slightly and put his left foot down quickly.

Porthos gasped and made an appreciative sound. Some of the other men murmured again. Aramis gestured for them to be quiet. He needed to concentrate.

After repositioning his right foot, he took the step again more steadily. He took the next couple of steps in the same manner but did not slip.

Gaining in confidence as he reached the middle of the bridge, Aramis sped up a bit. He glanced at Porthos and grinned.

His grin was short-lived.

As he reached the centre of the bridge a particularly crumbly stone had to be navigated. Aramis made sure to twist his foot a couple of times to dislodge any loose bits, sending them tumbling over the side towards the river below.

What he did not know was that he was sending the bits of stone onto the resting place for a few birds which had settled on a ridge of protruding stones along the side of the bridge. Alarmed the birds took flight as one with an accompanying shriek of fear.

The sudden movement and noise were enough to distract Aramis.

With flailing arms, Aramis fell.

MMMM

D'Artagnan was looking between Porthos and Aramis, drinking in the tale of stupidity.

'Fortunately,' said Porthos, 'I managed to pull him onto the bridge. He'd have been killed if he'd fallen into the river. He was right over the rocky bit.'

Aramis had leaned back in his chair shaking his head and chuckling.

'Porthos pulled me back with such force that I knocked my head on the ground and knocked myself out. He was mortified.'

Porthos nodded, 'it had been my idea and I nearly got him killed. Me and Jean and Paul still hadn't learned that trying to make money out of other people was not always a good thing.'

'Why were you trying to impress Porthos?' asked d'Artagnan.

'Porthos was new to the Musketeers,' said Aramis, 'with Jean and Paul, and I wanted to make them feel welcome by going along with what they were doing.'

Athos leaned forward, 'so you see we were all young and stupid when we did these things.'

The others nodded sagely.

'It's not like we do anything stupid now,' remarked Porthos with a grin.

Aramis laughed. Athos smirked.

D'Artagnan nodded, 'thank you,' he said. 'I was feeling sorry for myself and stupid. Now I feel as though I am in good company.'

The End.

Whumpee(s): All four.