Chapter Text
Athos
They sat in companionable silence. Athos was beginning to believe that their brotherhood stood a chance. His eyes were drawn to d’Artagnan, who was huddled against Constance. Her fingers fondly stroked the boy’s hair. A small smile tugged at her lips. On the floor, Aramis was dozing off, leaning against Porthos. Porthos' eyes met Athos’, and he just smiled at his friend. Athos could read the hope in his face, and he merely nodded at his brother.
The spell was broken when someone knocked at the door. Aramis was instantly on guard, aiming his gun at the door. D’Artagnan positioned himself in front of Constance in order to shield her.
“Come in!" called Athos. It was still early in the evening. It was not at all surprising that someone had come looking for them. He knew that his brothers were still on edge, waiting for an attack. And he found that he preferred Aramis’ reaction over d’Artagnan’s. The boy should have reached for a weapon, and had done nothing. There had been enough time for him to act.
Athos’ musings were interrupted by the Captain’s entrance. He immediately stood up, and was surprised to see Aramis already on his feet, lowering his gun.
“Relax," muttered Tréville. “Aramis, I heard you were attacked by six Red Guards. Needless to say, I am very disappointed that they attacked my ailing musketeer without any provocation. I must say I find it worrisome that the Red Guard is so inept that my man was able to defend himself, despite his less than optimal health. I hope that this compromising situation will be quickly forgotten.”
“Yes, sir," replied Aramis, a hint of smile on his lips.
“Good.” He looked at them for a moment longer. Athos began to worry. Something was definitely wrong.
“Sit down," said the Captain. “We need to talk.” Athos offered him a chair, as well as a glass of the fine wine sent by the Queen. Tréville accepted the wine. He took a sip, and could not hide his surprise at how good it was.
“The Queen indulges you," he commented.
“We are merely her humble servants," replied Aramis.
The Captain cast a glance in his direction.
“I tried in vain to persuade the King that he would not need the four of you during the hunt. I am a bit mystified as to why he is so insistent on having you attend.”
“What should we expect?” asked Porthos.
“That is not the correct question, Porthos. The correct question is what do I expect. First of all, I expect you to conduct yourselves appropriately. Do not allow yourselves to be easily provoked.”
Athos sighed with exasperation. Even if they had been at their best, that would present a significant challenge. D’Artagnan still acted with his heart. Aramis had the rare ability to escalate any misunderstanding into a violent discussion, especially if he was in a bad mood. The weather at that time of year was always poor. They would spend most of their time inside Fontainebleau Palace with a bored, irritable King and Red Guards spoiling for trouble.
Two weeks--or rather, 11 days--were left until the ceremonial beginning of the hunt, which would be the King’s departure from the Louvre. That was not enough time for him and Porthos to regain their strength. However, Athos would prefer to be sent on a mission with his brothers, as he tended to believe more in Aramis’ marksmanship than his mental stability. Today had seemed to prove his hunch.
Athos bitterly realized that he would trust Aramis with his life, but at that very moment he was not sure if he could say the same about d’Artagnan. He wanted to be wrong, but could not banish the image in his mind of the boy throwing himself at an opponent’s sword.
Neither Aramis nor d’Artagnan were ready for any kind of emotional tension. They were still injured, mentally and physically.
Aramis spoke first. "Captain, I am afraid that d’Artagnan may not be able to ride. The boy is badly malnourished. That is not a condition which can be successfully treated in two weeks. And he definitely does not need any further injuries.”
“Aramis… I am sorry to say this, but the King has put us in a situation where it would be better for d’Artagnan to faint during the hunt than to be absent from it.”
“Is there anything we can do?” asked the medic.
“Yes. Prepare as much as you can. And… don’t forget I that I think of you as my best soldiers.” He finished his wine, and bid them good night.
A heavy silence hung in the room. Constance hugged her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on top of her knees. Athos felt her gaze on him.
“So, what do you usually do to get ready?” she asked briskly.
“We do not know…” Porthos started to speak, but she interrupted him. "This is not exactly the first time you have known nothing about your mission. You can’t harden your hearts or heal your souls.."--Athos was sure he had seen her shiver when she glanced at Aramis--"But you can start to train. Not just with weapons, but also for… normal life. Go down to the tavern, play cards, drink. It will be easier for all of you to sleep after a busy day. You don't need to have time on your hands. It will just cause you to worry, and to think about the past--or the future. You musketeers are not good at thinking. So, focus on what you are best at--action!”
Porthos burst into laughter.
“You are wonderful, Constance!” he choked.
“I feel just like I do when you slap me," said Aramis cautiously.
“I am happy to actually slap you if it will make you feel better," she teased, giving him a gracious smile.
“Do you know if the Queen will participate in the hunt?”asked Athos.
“She will, at the King's request. I do not think Her Majesty is very happy that the King has asked to her attend. She has decided to leave the Dauphin in Paris. The child has a bit of a cold, and the doctor has advised against him traveling. It's nothing serious," she added quickly, as if she was aware of Aramis’ anguish.
Maybe she is, thought Athos.
“So, what would you say if we planned some swordplay for the morning?” Athos glanced quizzically at Aramis. His friend's reactions had been quite difficult to predict lately.
“With pleasure.“ Aramis smiled. It was heartbreaking for Athos see the his brother’s empty eyes paired with a contagious smile. Was this a first step towards recovery? Or was this as much as Aramis would ever recover?
“Athos? What’s wrong?" The emptiness in his brother’s eyes transformed into worry.
“I want you all to remember one thing. If Allancourt is there, we cannot kill him. That would be murder, and I don’t want to see any of you to hang. Is that clear?!”
“You don’t think he will be there?! You do..." whispered Porthos.
“We will bring him down, but I won’t let him take us down with him," said Athos solemnly. He was aware that d’Artagnan had buried his face in Constance’s hair. Porthos was fuming, and Aramis struggled to breathe evenly.
“Aramis, do you understand?" he asked. The medic nodded. His eyes were still too wide, and his face too pale--except for a dark red bruise slowly turning into a violet one.
“Porthos?”
“Yes…” hissed the dark skinned musketeer. Athos was sure that he had vowed to kill Allancourt.
“D’Artagnan?”
“I won’t put anyone in danger," replied the boy.
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one you will get!" snapped the Gascon.
Athos realized that he would not achieve anything by pursuing the conversation further. He only hoped that he was wrong about Allancourt. He realized that the wisest thing he could do was to follow Constance's advice – to act.
We will survive this. We will be stronger after it-- come what may, he vowed silently.
END