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“The drinks are on Athos, so drink up. Drink up!” Aramis urged, shoving another bottle into Porthos hand, before glancing to Athos.
Athos rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Why not… We have all earned a few drinks,” he stated, then gazed at Porthos. “Especially you.”
Aramis grinned broadly, griping Porthos by the shoulders and giving him a hardy, brotherly thump.
Porthos choked a bit on the brandy he’d been swallowing, but then chuckled. Raising an eyebrow, he asked. “You trying to get me drunk? Cause things didn't go so well last time.”
“This time, we’re going to see to it that you reach your bed before we leave you…or, at least, someone’s bed,” Aramis laughed in reply. “Now, come on, drink up.”
“You are trying to get me drunk,” Porthos’s huffed, suspiciously. “Why? What you up to?”
“Just celebrating your return to the fold, brother,” Aramis replied. Grinning slyly, he tapped the bottom of the bottle Porthos now held to his lips, urging him to drink up. “Besides, d’Artagnan was quite impressed by our little show last time, so I thought, perhaps we’d welcome you back by putting on another.”
D’Artagnan squawked at his, having had quite enough of their shooting trick the first time.
Beside him, Porthos laughed. “Perhaps blindfolded this time, eh,” he said, with a wink.
“Why not?” Aramis replied, grinning again. It was an infectious grin that soon had the rest of the party grinning, as well.
“Why not,” Porthos responded, slapping his friend on the back. “Shall we?”
“Uh, uh, uh, not yet,” remarked Aramis. “You’re not nearly drunk enough, yet.”
Porthos barked another laugh, but the smile had faded from d’Artagnan’s face.
“You can’t be serious?” he asked, gaze flickering from Porthos to Aramis, and then to Athos. “Surely, you’re not going to let this happen.”
Athos, though, merely offered another shrug and an amused, half smile.
“You really are crazy,” huffed d’Artagnan. “The whole lot of you!”
His companions all laughed, as he shook his head at them.
“He never misses, you know,” Athos reminded him.
“Yes, but there’s always a first time,” observed d’Artagnan. “And as we only just finished clearly his name of murder, it would seem to me that risking an accidental death isn’t worth it…especially when the corpse would be Aramis.”
Aramis laughed again. “You worry too much, my friend. Drink up! Enjoy the moment!”
He waved the barmaid over with another round, and the table quieted as they settled into their drinks.
“Enough, let’s do this,” Porthos’s growled, another round later. Pushing himself up from the table, he dragged Aramis up by his collar. “Before I regain my senses enough to decide it’s a bad idea…”
Aramis laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get us a melon and meet you three in the training grounds.”
Porthos raised an eyebrow at that. “Training grounds?”
Aramis clapped his friend on the shoulders. “I may be willing to risk my head,” he explained, “but I’m not risking any innocent bystanders.” Porthos raised an eyebrow in objection, but Aramis merely smiled and reminded him, “You will be blindfolded, after all.” Then, with a wink, he added, “Perhaps, if I survive this time, we can try with a bigger audience next time.”
“If you survive…” d’Artagnan’s repeated, shaking his head, dubiously.
“Come one, then,” Porthos urged, gathering up Athos and d’Artagnan and shooing them toward the door.
Aramis had been quick in obtaining a melon, Porthos observed, for he met them at the training grounds just as the trio arrived. Holding up the target, he asked, “Ready?”
Porthos nodded, grinning with an eagerness that made d’Artagnan shudder. He looked to Athos, hoping the man might have come to his senses and decided to stop this nonsense before it was too late. Athos, though, merely grinned in amusement.
“This post will do, I think,” Aramis stated, matter-of-factly, as he stood in front of one of the post they would hang melons off of when training. “Now just give me a moment,” he said, as he pulled out a sash and waved it toward Athos. “If you would be so kind…” Athos nodded, taking the sash and moving over to bind it over Porthos’s eyes. “I’ll just get this melon balanced,” he continued, distractedly, as he concentrated on his task,” and we can get this show on the road.”
D’Artagnan slapped a hand over his eyes, wondering again at the sanity of his companions, and then at his own in having not fetched Treville or the Red Guard, or done something that might have put a stop to this nonsense already. He was just about remedy that situation, when Athos finished with the blindfold, and Aramis removed the melon from his head, tied it to a string, and attached the string to a ready hook.
A slow smile spread across d’Artagnan’s face as comprehension finally settled upon him. Athos’s clucked at him, though, before he could accidentally spoil the trick.
“Ready,” Aramis shouted, from beside the post. He hovered there for a moment, waiting for Porthos to raise his pistol.
“You sure about this?” Porthos asked, hesitating.
“Piece of cake,” Aramis assured. “You’ve made this shot a dozen time. Just remember how high you usually aim and do it again.”
“All right, if you’re sure,” Porthos agreed, with a shrug, before finally raising his pistol.
Aramis stepped away from the post then, but not as far as d’Artagnan would have liked. In his hand, he held the end of the string attached to the melon, and that was the limit of his distance. Aramis seemed unconcerned, though. Shooting a grin at d’Artagnan, he waiting calmly for Porthos to pull the trigger.
Focused on Aramis, d’Artagnan saw him twitch the string, which should have alerted him and yet he still started when…
Bang!
The melon splatted a hair before the bullet hit the post, but d’Artagnan didn’t notice as the others erupted into a flurry of activity. Aramis had quickly strolled back to the post, gathered up a bit of smashed melon and was sprinkling it atop his head—though, d’Artagnan noted, the action was not unlike when he’d brushed it out of his hair the last time.
Athos, on the other hand, had clapped Porthos on the shoulders, as he congratulated him. “Nicely done! You’ll be giving Aramis a run for his money as the marksman among us if you keep that up,” he announced, with a grin.
Aramis rolled his eyes, but then smiled as Porthos pulled of his blindfold and stared at his friend with a combination of relief and amazement. Then a slow, silly grin spread across his face.
“Next time, with a bigger audience,” Porthos urged, as Aramis came up to offer his own hardy clap of congratulations.
“We’ll see,” he responded, with a laugh.
“Let’s not,” d’Artagnan chimed in, smiling wanly. “Young as you always remind me I am, I don’t think my heart could take watching that twice,” he stated, winking at Aramis.
Aramis and Porthos just laughed, as Athos grabbed d’Artagnan by the shoulders. “Time to put our young one to bed, I think,” he declared.
D’Artagnan rolled his eyes, but did not resist as Athos pulled him away from the group and turned him toward home. “Good night, my friends. Do try to make it to your own beds without finding trouble along the way.”
“We’ll do our best,” Aramis assured, grinning along with Porthos, as they waved good night. “Now, come, my friend,” he then urged Porthos, tugging him back toward the barracks. “Share one last drink with me before bed.”
Porthos smiled lopsidedly and wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “It’s good to be back.”
They fell into a comfortable silence as they made their way to Porthos’s room. Porthos raised an eyebrow at the choice of location.
“I did promise to make sure you made it to your bed, this time, remember?” Aramis replied, smiling wearily. The quiet companionship of their stroll back had allowed the late hour and drink to catch up to him at last, and he found himself abruptly ready for his own bed. Still, he added with a wink, “Besides, I haven’t a bottle in my room.”
Porthos laughed and fetched out a half-empty bottle, along with a couple glasses. “One more before bed, then,” he stated, pouring a few swallows into each glass. He sat, then, at his small table, and waited for Aramis to join him.
Aramis didn’t take long to find his own chair, and soon sat staring into the drink in his hand.
Catching a shift in his friend’s mood, Porthos asked, “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Aramis answered, lifted his eyes to his friend, all humor gone now and replaced with sorrow. Porthos’s brow wrinkled in confusion, so Aramis clarified, “About your friend.”
Porthos’s gaze dropped to his own glass, as he shrugged. “Not your fault,” he huffed, his voice gruff with sudden emotion. “He didn’t give you a choice.”
Aramis shook his head. “I’m not sorry that I killed him,” he corrected, bringing Porthos gaze back to him. “It was to save you, and so I cannot regret that.” Porthos nodded in comprehension. “But I’m sorry that you lost your friend.”
“I don’t know that he really was a friend, anymore,” Porthos responded, glumly, his gaze falling back to his glass. “I don’t think I even knew him, anymore.”
Aramis reached across and patted his friend’s arm. “Whatever he had become, he was important to you once, and it is no easy thing to lose those people, even if all that is left of the friendship by then is memories.”
Porthos nodded, sighed deeply, and then downed his drink in one swift gulp. Aramis did the same, and they sat in silence a moment, before Porthos pushed himself to his feet. Again, Aramis followed his example and turned toward the door to leave. But before he could step away, Porthos has sidestepped to him and gathered him into an abrupt hug.
“Thank you,” Porthos whispered to him, before released him.
Aramis ducked his head in a nod, then watched his friend tumble into bed before making his way to the door, a smile on his face.
The end.