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An ordinary citizen observing the musketeer standing at attention by the east entrance of the Louvre would have seen that he was dark haired and of medium height. He had a sword at his hip, a pistol in his belt and a scar across his lip. He turned his head neither left nor right but fixed his gaze straight ahead, as unmoving as a statue.
A more astute observer might have remarked on the firm line of musketeer's mouth and the unyielding straightness of his posture. The King, in fact, passing through that door with the Cardinal and a courtier or three, could not help himself but to comment to Richelieu on the quality of his musketeers.
'As upright as a young birch tree,' exclaimed Louis in admiration. 'Observe the straightness of his back, the complete stillness with which he holds himself! Very good. Nothing like your red guards, Cardinal,' he added slyly. 'But then, you are a man of the church; you may not terrify your men into obedience the way the king does!'
The Cardinal was well used to the whims of the King, who tomorrow might bitterly rebuke the same man he praised today with little awareness of his own fickle nature. That being the case, Richelieu merely murmured a gracious assent. The two great men passed by, the musketeer already gone from their thoughts.
The musketeer in question did not hear this conversation, but it may be noted that not once during his watch did his expression or posture change. It was not until he was surrounded by three more musketeers, each of whom looked too innocent not to have been up to something, that a flicker of emotion crossed his face, although his bearing was as upright as ever.
At their approach, Athos - for it was he - raised an eyebrow. 'I am on watch, gentlemen,' he reminded them. If there was a note of reproach in his voice, they ignored it.
'But that is what we have come to tell you,' Aramis said. 'You have been relieved.'
'D'Artagnan here's taking over,' Porthos said with a grin.
D'Artagnan nodded eagerly, aiming for a suitably neutral and trustworthy expression, but as he was both young and a Gascon, he fell short on both.
'I am quite capable, ' Athos said sharply, 'of seeing through my watch.'
'Course you are,' Porthos agreed. 'Just 'cos you flung yourself off a galloping horse yesterday to tackle an escaping assassin doesn't mean you'd be sore at all.'
'If you stand any straighter, people are going to wonder what's holding you up,' said Aramis with a suggestive leer.
'Charming, Aramis,' muttered D'Artagnan, blushing furiously despite his best effort not to, and blushing all the more as a result.
'Come on, Athos,' coaxed Porthos. 'There's no way landing headlong from a horse can be good for you, even if you're too stubborn to admit it.'
'I landed on Clusac,' Athos said. 'If either one of us is going to be any worse for wear, it would be him.'
'Yeah, but Clusac's having a nice, relaxing recovery in the Bastille,' said Porthos. 'He's not out here standing guard.'
'But I am,' said Athos firmly. 'So if you will kindly excuse me...'
'En garde!' cried Aramis, drawing his sword and brandishing it at Athos.
Athos' own sword was unsheathed faster than thought; before Aramis could attack, Athos had parried and extended his own blade to Aramis' throat. Only someone who knew Athos intimately would have been able to see the difficulty the movement had caused him, or caught the brief grimace which had flashed across his face. Unfortunately for Athos, the three men before him knew him better than any others in the world.
Aramis merely took a step backwards out of range of Athos' blade, nonchalantly sheathing his own. 'Just making sure you could still get your sword up,' he said, amused. Athos glared at him.
'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Porthos interrupted before things could get heated. 'It's a moot point. D'Artagnan is relieving your watch, Athos. Captain Treville's orders.'
Athos raised an eyebrow.
'Not so much 'order', ' Aramis broke in smoothly, 'as punishment. For baring his backside to the Captain.'
Athos' other eyebrow joined the first. 'You mooned the Captain?'
'I explained to Captain Treville that I mistook him for the Cardinal,' D'Artagnan said, much too innocently. 'The Captain was surprisingly understanding about it all, though.'
'He gaped for a few seconds,' continued Porthos, enjoying Athos' shocked expression as much as he had Treville's. 'Then he looked thoughtful, ordered our brave friend here to make himself decent again, and said that since it was clear D'Artagnan had too much time on his hands, he was to occupy himself by taking over your watch instead. '
Athos stared at his friends. 'You're insane,' he said in disbelief. 'All of you. Utterly insane.'
'Perhaps,' conceded Aramis. 'But the important detail in the story is that you, my friend, are no longer on watch. Come now!'
'See you tonight, D'Artagnan!' called Porthos, as he dragged an unwilling Athos away.
And if D'Artagnan had maintained the tiniest shred of regret at having to spend the rest of his afternoon on guard duty, it quickly vanished when he saw the grateful glances that Aramis and Porthos gave him, and the stiff, careful way that Athos moved, so different from the man's usual careless grace.
Athos, for his part, was eying Aramis and Porthos suspiciously as they accompanied him towards the Rue Ferou. 'I assure you I'm quite capable of walking home,' he said dryly.
'Ah, but you promised to lend me your copy of Herodotus,' said Aramis, smiling.
Athos snorted. 'And you, Porthos, want to borrow the writings of Plato, I assume?'
'Not me. Reading French is bad enough, how do you expect me to read Latin? I'm just going where Aramis is going, and it looks like Aramis is going to the Rue Ferou.'
Athos threw up his hands in defeat. If the gesture pained him, he gave no outward sign. 'Suit yourself, then.'
Athos' apartments consisted of two small rooms, both utilitarian and plainly furnished. In the sitting room there was a shelf of books and a cabinet of wine. The first he offered to Aramis, and the second he offered to Porthos.
'And now,' Athos said pleasantly, seeing the appreciation in both his friends' faces at their prizes, 'you may go and enjoy your histories, Aramis, and you may go and enjoy some very fine Spanish wine, Porthos. I do believe,' he added with a sudden grimace of discomfort, 'that you have the better bargain, Porthos.'
Aramis and Porthos exchanged a glance.
'You're not fooling either of us,' Porthos informed him. 'We can see that you're hurting.'
Athos looked exasperated. Very gingerly, he flexed his tightly wound shoulders and tilted his head to one side. The movement was accompanied by a series of cracks and pops that made Aramis wince in sympathy.
'Even if that were the case,' Athos said, 'and I'm not saying it is - but even if it were so, there was no need to manouvere to have me relieved of my post. Standing to attention causes no more discomfort than sitting at a table, or lying on a bed.'
'What you're saying is, everything hurts no matter what you do,' Aramis said tartly. 'Will you at least have the sense to remove your cloak and baldric?'
Athos did so, with some bemusement. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Porthos hiding a smile, but as he was wasting no time in draining a bottle of Athos' second-best wine, Athos supposed that was to be expected.
'Might I enquire what -'
'Stay still!' Aramis demanded. He ran an exploratory hand down Athos' spine, and Athos tensed even further. Suddenly, firm fingers pressed into the junction between neck and shoulder and Athos, despite his self control, made a quiet sound of distress that would have been a curse from another man.
'Any tenser and you'd break,' said Aramis. 'Only the Lord knows how you didn't snap your neck leaping off that horse. Did no-one ever teach you how to dismount?'
'Regrettably, not at speed,' Athos acknowledged. 'But gentlemen, as much pleasure as your company ordinarily brings, today I must beg your forgiveness.' His eyes flickered to the cabinet of wine, and Aramis did not miss the movement.
'Wine's not what you need,' Aramis said bluntly.
'I'd wager you've got a wicked headache as it is,' Porthos added. 'Probably not smart to be adding to it.'
Athos sighed. 'When did the two of you become the dispensers of wisdom?'
'Porthos and I have always been men of intelligence and skill,' Aramis said loftily. 'If lesser men do not see the value of our words, that is their sad misfortune. Kindly remove your coat. And your boots.'
'I hardly think -' began Athos.
'That's the problem, isn't it?' grinned Porthos. 'Or you wouldn't have leapt off your horse like that. Better just do as Aramis says, saves time for everyone.'
Athos sighed again. He unbuttoned his coat and carefully shrugged out of it, but was forced to admit defeat with his boots.
'Were you planning on sleeping in them?' Porthos asked, deftly unlacing the left while Aramis took charge of the right.
'I wasn't planning on noticing,' Athos replied. Aramis snorted.
'On the bed,' he ordered.
Athos looked at him with some apprehension but acquiesed obediently, which made Aramis share a startled glance with Porthos. True to his earlier words, lying prone offered no more relief than standing upright, and Athos shifted uncomfortably.
Aramis cupped a hand across the back of his neck, and his thumb and fingers pressed into the spot on either side where the muscle joined the spine. Muscle and tendon gave an audible crunch, and Athos jumped. 'That hurt,' he said mildly.
'It was supposed to,' drawled Aramis. 'Now stay still.' He dug his thumbs in once again, feeling the knots and working at each of them. Athos' breath caught sharply and he tensed even further, but apart from that, he did not move. Aramis moved the steady pressure of his hands to the base of Athos' neck, and Athos exhaled, a fraction of the tension leeching from him as he felt some of the pain lessen.
'You are a man full of surprises,' said Athos.
'He's good with his hands,' Porthos said knowingly.
'I strained my back once,' said Aramis. 'Not in as heroic a fashion as you, Athos. Mine was an endeavour of science. I was testing, you see, some rather interesting stretches of the human body. Although I certainly didn't regret it at the time, I did regret it for days afterwards, until one of my fellow, uh... scholars of science... did unto me as I do unto you now.'
Porthos laughed. Athos groaned into his pillow. Ever the perfect gentleman, and the perfect misanthrope, he despaired of Aramis' amorous tales.
'Ah!' said Aramis mockingly. 'You are in pain. This will help.' And he pressed and held his knuckles on two points on Athos' shoulders that caused the other man to give a sharp inhale. Athos' much abused muscles protested, and tensed so hard that he trembled, but Aramis did not relent. All of a sudden, to his own surprise, the muscles relaxed completely, draining the tightness away.
Aramis made a sound of satisfaction, and settled his hands another inch further down Athos' spine. His ministrations were not gentle. He uncannily found each knot and worked at it with his thumbs without mercy, while Athos tempered his breathing and exercised all of his self restraint not to flinch away from those clever, unyielding hands. At frequent intervals, his back clicked, and popped, and cracked in an alarming fashion, but Aramis never left a spot until the knots had unfurled and the overtaxed muscles had loosened.
'I do believe,' Athos gasped at last, 'that you have quite cured me of anything which could have ailed me, Aramis.'
Aramis huffed. 'I know I have not cured you of being a reckless fool.'
'That was unfair,' protested Athos.
'Unfair? I was afraid you'd broken your neck yesterday, you ass.'
'But what is the good of a neck if one is unwilling to risk it?'
'And what is the good of a brain if one is unwilling to use it?' retorted Aramis.
'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' exclaimed Porthos. 'Aramis is right - and your neck probably regrets it even if you don't, Athos. And Athos is right - God gave us thick skulls and hard bones for a reason, seems like it'd be a shame to waste His gift.'
Aramis grinned, knowing that he was no less foolish than what he chided Athos for; and Athos pulled a face, because even though he would die rather than admit it out loud, his neck and back were in firm agreement with Aramis' rebukes.
'That's my boys,' said Porthos fondly, knowing exactly what had passed through each of their minds. 'And now that Aramis here's done doctorin', allow me to finish the job.'
Aramis gladly ceded his place to take up the chair and half-full glass that Porthos had just abandonned, and Porthos rubbed his hands together to warm them.
'Aramis is good at fixin' people,' he explained. 'But I'm better at making 'em feel better,' he said with a wink. He lay the weight of his hands on Athos' back, the heat of them soaking through his calico shirt and into his overstretched muscles. Strong fingers began to knead away the last vestiges of tightness, the movements unhurried and deep. Aramis had sought to release the knots, seeking out the points which required attention with expert precision. Porthos lacked his knowledge, but his aim was only to soothe and to relax.
When he was done - when both of them had finished their ministrations - Athos' hair was mussed and his eyes were heavy-lidded. It was the most at peace any of them had seen him in a long time. And he didn't thank them, but he did set before them two bottles of his best wine, and that, and the easy way Athos now moved, was more than enough.
And when D'Artagnan joined them after his watch had ended, he found the three of them in a deep and companionable silence which was most unlike their usual boistrous manner. He couldn't quite describe, even to himself, the feeling of that quiet scene, but he knew that he was glad to be part of it.