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When Athos heard the talk in the bastion he immediately felt, a sinking feeling in his gut. Such speculation wasn’t new, of course, but this time the ideas and ‘facts’ rung a little too close to home. The thing was that men, or specifically Musketeers, were quite inclined to gossip when surrounded by other men of a similar disposition. And Musketeers always were of a similar disposition, to an extent. Gaudy or drunk, cavalier or pious, these didn’t matter; for all Musketeers, at the end of the day, loved a good fight and that brought them together like brothers. Brothers with very, very loose tongues.
Word in the guardroom was that the Queen had found herself another consort and this time the lucky (or unlucky depending on your viewpoint) devil was a Musketeer. That was knowledge that would feed the gossip mill for days.
Athos had made a point of sitting to listen to the speculation and, long after his shift had ended, he heard tell that the man who’d charmed the Queen had offered his life to her protection, would wander the gardens with her, read with her, laugh with her confidant and provide her with the good seeing too her husband neglected to provide. And it all sounded a little bit too much like Aramis.
That evening he went back to the lodging he shared with Porthos and Aramis; while the three of them sat at the table, drinking beer and eating a stew that Porthos had concocted (made from a meat nobody felt inclined to give too much attention) Athos continued to think. And watch.
He thought and he watched and he stared at Aramis long and hard and he didn’t like the conclusions his mind was drawing. There was a smile on his friend’s face, (this wasn’t something to query on its own) but his hair was cleaner than usual, his beard finely trimmed and there was this horribly embarrassing wistful expression that kept making an appearance on his face. The man looked, if Athos didn’t know any better, stupid enough to be in love.
“Rumour has it,” he said loudly causing Porthos and Aramis to look at him with a jolt; he’d been quiet all evening and his sudden proclamation startled them. “That a Musketeer is currently enamoured with our beloved Queen.”
Porthos immediately laughed loudly and deeply, “what fool would set himself up for that kind of misery?” he asked laughing. Athos agreed wholeheartedly with his friend but his eyes were watching Aramis’ expression which had become, if possible, even more absorbed by (of all things) the bible in his hands. He was clearly exercising his contrariness and having a pious evening, this would suit Athos well.
“Quite right, Porthos!” he said, making a show of agreeing with him to Aramis who pointedly focused on his book. “When I heard the news myself I thought, ‘a musketeer having an affair with the Queen? Who would be that stupid?’ My first thought was, naturally, d’Artagnan,” he paused to allow for Porthos’ uproar of laughed, taking in the relieved expression on Aramis’ face.
“But then I realised even he was more morally driven than to let himself fall into that bed,” Athos watched with satisfaction as Aramis paled. “And then I thought of you, Aramis. You, who could charm your way into any bed in France if you thought to, and who, more importantly, have less scruples than half the whores in Paris!” he exclaimed at his friend, slapping him around the head with his glove and watching with satisfaction as he had the decency to look embarrassed. “How could you be so stupid?!” he demanded.
Aramis’ face was apologetic as he looked to Athos, ignoring the mirth of Porthos who had now collapsed into a fit or roaring laughter. “I love her, friend.”
Porthos sighed loudly and dramatically and poured Athos another ale, clearly thinking (and quite rightly) that his friend would need it. “Spare me from fools in love!” Athos cried, exasperated with the foolishness of his friend.
Aramis looked defensive for he had never asked Athos to get involved. “I never asked-“
“No!” Athos interrupted and hissed at Aramis, “but now I know, and my choice is thus: be loyal to the King who rules me or loyal to the friend whose treason could have us all killed!”
Aramis looked understanding in a way that Athos and Porthos had always hated, they called it his ‘theological expression’ and he always seemed to pull it out when they least wanted it. In truth it wasn’t synonymous with theology but it was synonymous with him displaying a level of understanding that tended to make them uncomfortable. “And I thank you for your decision, friend,” he told Athos and reached across to pat him on the hand.
Athos looked bemused, unable to determine how Aramis had already, rightly, guessed his own conclusion. His confusion must have been apparent as Aramis soon explained with a knowing smile, “You would not have come here if you had not already made your choice, Athos.”
Athos, disbelieving Aramis’ blatant audacity in the face of the situation smacked him around the head again, for lack of a better response. “Don’t make me regret it then, Aramis,” he replied, satisfied when Aramis rubbed his skull in pain.
Porthos was amused as he watched the two of them drunkenly from the opposite side of the table; the conclusion was one that he distantly agreed with, though he didn’t have all of his wits about him to make the decision himself. The exchange of blows, threats and promises had passed and the two had shaken hands and poured each other another mug of ale – as a way of expression each other’s gratitude. Now the two acted as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, “all for one and one for all,” Porthos muttered as he poured himself too another drink.
“What?” asked Athos, bewildered in the face of the crass line his friend had muttered to himself so drunkenly.
“All for one, and one for all, Athos,” he replied slowing the slurred words as if it would make them more coherent.
Aramis set down his mug and asked, with ardent curiosity, “what happened to every man for himself?”
“Well,” Porthos began, leaning on the table between them and pausing only to take another mouthful of liquor. “I realised it was very selfish to leave my comrades in the lurch.” He appraised their approving expressions for a moment before continuing, “and otherwise, I would miss out on foolish idiocy like this.”
Aramis and Athos looked to each other, they couldn’t really argue with such inebriated logic, even if it were sound. Athos raised his tankard in resignation, “one for all-“
“And all for one,” Aramis concluded for him with a shrug.
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d’Artagnan, of course, was another matter. He was told months later when the dust and the rumour had settled. “What if you get the Queen pregnant,” he hissed across the table at the already exasperated Aramis, who made a point of ignoring the smirks of Athos and Porthos.
The look that Aramis sent Athos quite clearly said, ’well, this is why we didn’t tell him.’ But as a show of camaraderie Athos and Porthos had wanted to let the younger Musketeer in on the secret. Aramis suspected though that Porthos’ support of the idea was solely out of amusement and anticipation of whatever irrational display the headstrong, quick to the draw Gascon would come out with.
“Well, someone has to,” Porthos told the already scandalised d’Artagnan who gaped at the trio in front of him.
Athos laughed openly, now he had made his peace with the situation he was able to find humour in it much like Porthos, and anyway, Aramis was embarrassed so rarely that it was always an enjoyable exercise to inflict it upon him.
Aramis sighed, glad his other friends had accepted the situation but exasperated with the still somewhat green d’Artagnan. The poor boy still seemed to think that his peers would be honour bound and chivalrous, he’d had a few months of daunting disappointment to get over the worst of it but he was still surprised when something the likes this cropped up (which it did more often than one should expect – although not to this level of gravity). “You aren’t helping, Porthos,” he muttered darkly, shooting a glare towards the friend that grinned so widely.
“And I don’t intend to, Aramis,” he shot back with quick wit. “For that would be treason.”
As Aramis flung his head to his hands, d’Artagnan looked thoroughly scandalised and Porthos laughed heartily, Athos accepted that this long night would be a memorable one for all four of them and, a turning point in the friendship of the three musketeers and d’Artagnan. With that knowledge in place he made his way to the bar and procured the strongest alcohol he could buy, he knew they’d need it.
A.N. Thank you for all the reviews, follows, encouragement and such!