Chapter Text
Chapter One
England was a very strange country, d’Artagnan had decided. The country was strange, the people were strange and the language was very strange. He couldn’t understand a single word they spoke. Luckily Athos was fluent so at least he could communicate with people and relay the information back to him. He still felt completely useless. He hated London. Despite being filthy and crowded like Paris there was nothing else that reminded him of home and as a result he felt completely homesick. He was tired and fed up of not feeling safe and secure. He couldn’t help but think that every day was going to be his last and Rochefort would discover where he and Athos were.
Athos had suggested moving out of the city to somewhere rural and out of the way. He reasoned that Rochefort would be more likely to scour a big city like London to find them but d’Artagnan had wanted to stay in the capital to wait for Aramis and Porthos.
And then there was all the pretending. They were constantly lying to everyone around them. They couldn’t allow anyone to know the true nature of their relationship so they could only be friends in public. They were using false names to make it harder to be found. They couldn’t be former Musketeers because it would make it easier to be found and when questioned by the locals as to why two Frenchmen had left their country to settle in England it was easier to lie and say they were Protestants who were unhappy with how they were being treated in France. After several months the lies came easily.
He never asked Athos how he felt about their situation but he had a feeling that it would be similar to how d’Artagnan felt. He always complained that the weather was terrible and the food bland but on the whole he had settled better than d’Artagnan had. At least Athos could hold full conversations with people.
D’Artagnan felt lonely. Apart from Athos there was no-one he could talk to. He spent his days working with people he didn’t understand just so he could spend the night with the man he loved. He missed Paris. He missed being a Musketeer but most of all he missed his friends. He missed the camaraderie between them and more than anything he wanted that back. He didn’t tell Athos any of this but he spent the first few months in that strange new country feeling very alone.
Then one evening he made his way to Athos’ house and found Aramis and Porthos standing in front of him and all of a sudden he didn’t feel so lonely. Their friends were alive and had found them and now they were all together again it all just felt a little bit easier. At least one thing could go right for them.
The first night they had sat together in Athos’ tiny house and talked. They caught up with each other’s stories and joked like old times. D’Artagnan had curled up by Athos’ side and, for the first time in months, had genuinely laughed. It felt like old times.
“Are you going to stay?” D’Artagnan had hesitantly asked late on in the evening. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer if they said no.
“What would you say if we did?” Porthos asked back, a mischievous grin on his face.
“I would say that I would like that.”
“Then I would say we would love to.”
D’Artagnan grinned and turned to Athos who smiled gently at his younger lover and pulled him in for a soft kiss.
“So, how is England?” Porthos interrupted the tender moment. “Is it everything you hoped for?”
“It is very… English,” Athos replied. “I don’t think there is any other way to describe it. It rains more than you’d like, the food is bland and the wine is terrible.”
“And they talk very strange,” d’Artagnan added.
“D’Artagnan hasn’t learned to speak the language yet,” Athos explained. “Anyway, it is starting to get late, I can get you some blankets if you like.” He turned to d’Artagnan, “are you going to stay the night?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I want to be near all of you.”
Athos’ house consisted of two rooms; a living area and a bedroom. It was small but could easily hold all four of them. He found blankets for Aramis and Porthos and left them in the living area to curl up next to d’Artagnan in bed.
“I missed them,” d’Artagnan said as Athos lay down and took him in his arms. He lay his head on Athos’ chest and smiled to himself. “It felt like there was something missing and now there’s not.”
“I know what you mean,” Athos replied. “I don’t think I truly realised how much I missed them until I saw them again. It was like a constant dull ache that I could manage to ignore. Now I feel so much lighter knowing they are all right.”
“Maybe you can smile a little more now,” Athos said to him. “I think you have smiled less than me the last few months.”
“And you smiling is a rarity,” d’Artagnan joked before raising his head to kiss Athos. “It has been quite the adjustment moving to England. I don’t really think that I fit in here.”
“You will feel differently eventually. It will more than likely be our home for the rest of our lives. We are never likely to return to France unless everyone involved in our conviction happens to die.”
“I would kill them if I could.”
“Even the King?”
“Even the King. I miss France so much.”
“London isn’t so bad. It would be bearable if the wine was drinkable. Beer is a foul drink, I don’t know how they can stand it.”
“But don’t you think that the atmosphere is different. I am under no illusions that Paris is the perfect city but compared to London it is a paradise.”
“I am sure a Londoner would say exactly the opposite. I know you are having a hard time adjusting, it hasn’t been easy for me either, but you will in time. It will get easier.”
“I know. I don’t hate everything about London. Maybe now Aramis and Porthos are here we could move somewhere else. My heart is yearning for the countryside.”
“That can be an option. We should talk to Aramis and Porthos about it. I have already said that it would be harder for Rochefort to find us away from big towns.”
“I could find work on a farm. If I cannot be a Musketeer then I can go back to being a farmer.”
“I think I would like to see that.”
D’Artagnan grinned, “I’m sure you would.”
Athos ran his hand under d’Artagnan’s shirt, lightly tracing his fingers up and down the warm skin beneath them. He felt the younger man shiver. He leaned down and kissed him deeply.
“I love you,” d’Artagnan whispered when they finally broke the kiss and, breathing heavily he rolled over so he was lying on top of Athos. “I’m glad we’re here. I am glad they didn’t kill you.”
“I love you too,” Athos replied. He ran his fingers over the scars on d’Artagnan’s back from where he had been whipped. A permanent physical reminder of what they had been through. “Do they hurt?” He asked.
“Not anymore. They used to hurt a lot. At the time I thought I was going to die because the pain was so bad but now they don’t hurt. They just feel a little but tight sometimes.”
“I wish you hadn’t had to go through that. I tried so hard to save you from being hurt. I would have happily died if it meant that you were safe.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to live if you had died. A few lashes of the whip was worth being able to be with you here.”
“Maybe we need to live less dangerous lives,” Athos chuckled.
“Or be more discreet,” d’Artagnan replied. “No more kissing in alleys.”
“That was your idea if I am remembering correctly.”
“Sometimes I have stupid ideas,” d’Artagnan laughed. “Fun but stupid.”
“Will you two shut up? We’re tryin’ to sleep,” Porthos called through the wall.
D’Artagnan and Athos laughed. “Maybe we should just sleep tonight,” Athos said.
“All right,” d’Artagnan replied as he rolled off his lover. “But tomorrow we should send them to my house and lock the doors.”
“I thought you were glad they were here,” Athos teased.
“I am but not when they get in the way of our fun.”
-x-
If the weather had been bad in the summer as the season turned it became even worse. If the rain had been bad then adding a cold and biting wind into the mix as winter approached made the days even worse. The sky was constantly grey, it was if the sun had given up even trying to shine. Six months in London and Athos had barely seen the sun.
No wonder people in England were always depressed, Athos thought to himself as he turned his collar up and hurried through the narrow streets.
“Good evening madame,” he greeted his neighbour; a middle aged dumpy woman who was always pleasant to him, and tipped his hat. She smiled, her stained teeth showing. “How is your husband?”
“Oh you know,” she replied, “just the same. Always complaining about his dodgy knees. How about you, are your friends coming over this evening?”
Athos nodded. Even though they had all found somewhere of their own to live they spent most of their evenings at Athos’ house. D’Artagnan practically lived there. If it wasn’t for the fact they were trying to stay hidden then the younger man probably would live there.
“They are a nice bunch even though that young one never talks to me.”
“He just doesn’t understand you,” Athos explained. “He doesn’t know much English.”
“Shouldn’t he learn some?”
“He’s from Gascony, they’re notably stubborn,” she laughed even though she had no idea what Athos was talking about. “I’m sure he will in time.”
Once upon a time, back when he was a Musketeer, Athos would have known when someone was following him. He would have been able to sense the person walking behind him, stalking his every move and would have been able to protect himself. As it was he had become lax. Although he knew that there was a chance that someone from Paris may come to London to find him he had let himself believe that he was safe. That had been his first mistake.
The second had been stopping to talk to his neighbour. This allowed his stalker to see his exact position and keep an eye on his at all times.
He didn’t realise that anyone was following him when he opened his door and went inside his house. The stranger went up to his door and quietly pushed it open, slipping inside with barely a sound. Athos had his back to the door and didn’t see him creep up on him until it was too late. He felt himself being slammed against the wall.
“I’ve been looking for you for quite a while,” the man said in French as he grabbed hold of Athos’ throat and squeezed. “You are a very hard man to find.”
Athos immediately reacted and pushed the man away. He pushed past him and grabbed his sword, which he kept displayed on the wall, just as the man drew his. “You must be one of Rochefort’s men,” he said.
“He is very angry with you,” he replied as they clashed swords. Athos hadn’t really trained for months but he was still the superior swordsman.
“He should have just left it alone,” Athos told him. “Or is his pride too great for that?”
“You will be taken back to France for execution, as will your friends.”
“That will never happen,” Athos said as they continued fighting. Despite Athos being the better swordsman this man was not averse to fighting dirty and soon he had Athos on the floor, his knee in Athos’ stomach, holding him down.
“I could kill you right now. You bring shame on the people of France with your disgusting perversion but Rochefort wants you more." He grabbed hold of Athos’ hair tightly and slammed his head onto the ground until Athos was unconscious.