Chapter Text
There was a certain vibe to the garrison this morning, excitement and happiness. The most hardhearted musketeers had small smirks on their faces and the lighter, younger musketeers were smiling and joking with each other. Christmas day brought out the best in people, but not Athos; no, for Athos was sitting alone and watching his three best friends. Porthos and Aramis were playing cards with a glass of red wine in their hands. Aramis caught his eye and nodded. Athos smiled at him before his attention caught D'Artagnan, who was sword fighting with the newest recruits in regiment.
They lacked technique that D'Artagnan had learned throughout the year but they showed dedication, considering they were training on Christmas day. Looking at D'Artagnan and how happy he looked, Athos struggled to remember the small, young D'Artagnan who made his way into the garrison all those many months ago. It had been almost a year, but Athos could vaguely remember. The rude and ill tempered boy had stormed in the garrison, not even bothering to keep his anger in check as he fought with all three of them. True, he lacked technique, but he was good, better than a novice ought to be. He had more guts than any person he had ever met as well. Not many people would challenge a musketeer, but here was the person whose insanity was driven by anger and it did him well.
Looking at D'Artagnan smile happily as he won yet another round, he was truly astonished by how much the lad had changed. He was once so angry to the point where it was like walking on hot rocks around him, then he desperately tried to please everyone by overdoing it on missions, and more often than not, almost getting himself killed. But now, he looked like he had finally found his place. He was more at ease and was thankful to help other people harness their own skill. Athos noticed that the lad was smiling more as well without force.
D'Artagnan wasn't the only one who changed. No, Athos had changed as well. When Athos first met D'Artagnan, he was driven by his cold heart that left no room for friendship, but the longer he spent with D'Artagnan the more he realized how much the people around him met to him. For this, Athos was more thankful than anyone could ever imagine.
Looking at all three of his friends, his brothers, he felt proud. Proud of all they had become, proud of the fact that they survived another year together and proud that he, himself, had become a much better man than he used to be.