Chapter Text
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“I didn’t think it was you at first, you’ve changed.” Allain observed.
Athos tensed his jaw against claiming that was obvious. He’d lost much to her, no doubt his face bore the weathering of his experiences.
“Yes, more stern of countenance, but no less the handsome Count-to-be,” Allain had the grace to amend the statement, “I am sorry for your loss. Your parents were – ”
“It’s Athos now.”
Taking the hint the young man moved on from discussions of the prior Comte and, thankfully, his brother.
“Ah, a nomme de guerre, is it? And one of the famed Musketeers, how exciting.” Allain adjusted his seat to lean closer to Athos. “I wouldn’t have expected you to leave your home, but you excelled in horsemanship and your skills with a blade were without equal. I imagine that’s unchanged. I recall I’d heard you’d been married…”
“In the past, and my past is unknown to the regiment.”
“I see.” Allain turned to look for the riders behind them; beyond one of his brother’s men. “Well they’ll not hear it from me, but my brother may be of another mind entirely.”
Athos couldn’t help the look of annoyed remembrance. “Wasn’t he always.”
“Do you still play chess?”
Athos’ brow quirked sharply enough to shift his hat. “That’s your concern?”
“Well my brother is Baron Desmarais, not I and his men are escorting you; your companions shall be given excellent care when we arrive,” Allain shrugged and adjusted his reins in a gesture of nonchalance. “I assume your business is with him.”
Athos inclined his head. “It is.”
“Then surely we may speak of pleasantries instead before we arrive?”
Athos said nothing.
“You’re still judicious with your words.” Allain leaned further back on his saddle. “Well, if you really must know I’m left out of his affairs entirely. Although not I from his…”
It appeared the young man’s own temperament was unchanged: he’d last seen him as a child.
Allain meanwhile took a glance at the man riding before them. “I can go nowhere without guard. It’s as though I were being watched…”
Now this, Athos would speak of – it may prove useful. “You have not sought your own marriage?”
“Alas I did not secure such before father passed, God rest his soul, I am practically a prisoner here…” Allain complained. “He wed Eleanor you know.”
“Colette’s sister?”
“The very same and just as beautiful as you may remember. A disposition to tempt a poet’s praise and a figure to inspire the sculptor…”
Athos hadn’t noticed much of either of the young women to the extent Allain had.
“...a voice to rival the most perfect pitched nightingale...”
His memory was keen enough to recall the young boy’s infatuation; clearly such feelings in the man had not tempered with age.
“Is there a reason you’ve not proposed?” Athos prompted since it was obvious that his inquiry was the other’s expectation.
“My brother refused to allow my suit.”
For the first time the man’s face darkened. His tone less exaggerated and more brittle with the bitterness of a request long denied him.
“Eleanor is ill. To the point he doesn’t expect her to recover – it’s why we have a physician at the house.”
Allain’s sadness for his sister in law sounded heartfelt to Athos.
“It’s tragic, wretched luck and minor setbacks began soon after they married, two miscarriages and a fall from a horse. Broke her arm, it’s never been right since. She’s grown worse these past months…”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Athos did not recall much of her, but her family was in good standing and she’d been pleasant enough to him in their youth.
“Misfortune stalks him of late…” Allain’s mouth twisted and he tapped his chin. “Myself as well...he takes his miseries out on me with this constant watch on me that he keeps. A man grown and yet I am forbidden free movement. Even my own means!”
“You cannot leave?”
“He denies me that which my father bequeathed me, it was a modest sum but it would have seen me to my own start. He claims the King of France is responsible, and while I cannot blame our monarch my brother has seen it vital to keeping all resources and wealth within the family to preserve the lands and titles.”
“Your father’s wishes?”
“There was a provision in the document that allowed him to accomplish it…”
“It does not mean you must remain here.”
“I’ve no choice, Oliv – Athos. He means to marry Colette I think. He won’t admit that, but there’s no other reason to forbid me courting her.” Allain slumped with all the dramatics of Aramis in the throes of heartbreak. “There’s little other reason he could give for keeping us both detained here, not that we both don’t wish to be here for our sister. We our devastated, naturally, but I fear he is plotting.”
As he often chose with Aramis, Athos kept his silence and let the man talk. Frequently it was a need to reason out loud that yielded a solution before Athos needed to advise – much. He was a man consulted with regularity among the regiment but his advisement was followed less consistently.
“I do not wish to be Colette’s brother, I could not continue living carrying the burden of unsatisfied love for her in my heart.”
As dramatic as Aramis indeed.
“As Eleanor’s grown worse their watch has expanded. I cannot even leave the house unobserved, not even to walk in the garden alone.”
“We are not here regarding your courtship.”
“Well that’s a pity.”
Athos was curious over the Duke’s close watch of his brother, but true to the young romantic that Athos remembered Allain’s only concern was Colette.
“His Majesty would surely restore our status if I had access to court. Oliv...Athos. Athos would you, that is could you see fit to – ”
“We are here exclusively on His Majesty’s business.” Athos glanced to check Aramis and Porthos followed, fortunately at a distance; Aramis’ uninjured arm came up in a wave and Athos turned to face forward with such force his neck twinged.
“Still play chess then?”
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“...yeah, it’s a prior injury,” Porthos told the doctor, watching the bloody cloth darken as it pressed to Aramis’ scalp. “Lucky fer us he’s got a hard head.”
“Quite. This is slightly below that scar,” the elder man said. He separated and prodded with his fingers as he removed the cloth once again.
Aramis dug his hands into the soft coverlet, the plush bed linens sliding between his fingers. When offered the doctor’s services he’d assumed they’d be shown to the kitchen or a study to be treated, not one of the manor’s opulently decorated bedrooms.
“It’ll need a stitch or two, stave off the bleeding and keep you from an infection.” The man didn’t wait for confirmation, merely turned to retrieve his tools one-handed.
“So much for head wounds not needin’ ‘em…”
“Well, under normal circumstances I might wrap this wound, but given the exertion of a fight and that he’s lost and will lose more blood when we tend the arm...it’s a precaution...”
Aramis nodded along in understanding, or he thought he did. He cut off his movements with the first motion of his head and squinted against his nausea. He refocused his gaze when the doctor’s hand rested on his arm.
“That and you also saw fit to acquire a second wound to this arm – when it appears your other injury is still fresh.”
Aramis tried to smirk but he was certain his expression leaned more towards a grimace.
“The stitching is clean.”
“Our friend, comes in handy to know.” Porthos informed the man.
Aramis didn’t feel the need to add that while Porthos knew them he’d rarely be the one to employ those skills if it could be avoided. He’d put pressure on, or dress, a wound but he’d defer stitching to anyone else available to do the task.
“He’s done well, the stitching is neat despite the wound’s shape.”
“He learned from the best.” Porthos declared.
Aramis took comfort and a bit of delight at the pride in Porthos’ voice.
“Most injuries Aramis stitches y’wouldn’t know the skin’d ever been disturbed.”
“Oh?” The doctor was content to allow the distraction. He let the low timbre of Porthos’ voice carry on while he proceeded to make his own stitches.
“Best in the regiment – shame he can’t stitch up his own…”
“Ah, but what is a soldier without his scars, hmm?”
Aramis might’ve teased Porthos that it was unfair he was marred by the lack of skill he was often subjected to. He might’ve complained that none of them appreciated his efforts or followed his teaching. Any nonsense he could think of to contribute, but as it was he felt dizzy and tired. He had the sense that he was falling, only wanting to sleep; although he knew they’d still need to remove the ball from his arm.
The bed tilted or he did; Aramis had a vague sense of weightlessness. It was similar to being knocked from his horse, but he never met the mattress. Porthos’ arm could be likened to a tree branch when it struck you however when that strength supported you it was both warm and welcome. He gave his weight over and let Porthos keep him upright.
“Look here,” the doctor directed his gaze with a prod at his chin. “This way, and over towards that corner chair now please.”
“He all right?”
“I believe he will be. Commotio cerebri.”
Aramis caught it in his periphery that Porthos frowned at the gray haired man.
“I expect he's had the condition before?”
Aramis had a flash of irritation at the physician. He would have shared his thoughts if his tongue hadn’t felt so thick it was preventing the movement to speak.
“Commotion of the mind. He’s had similar strikes before? Besides the injury that caused the scar?
“Yeah. He’s had concussions before. That a concern?”
The elder smiled at him and Aramis amended his opinion and decided he liked the man. He’d not been trying to talk down to Porthos. Aramis unintentionally leaned more weight onto his friend.
“I’m not certain.”
Porthos must have looked displeased enough that the doctor felt the need to elaborate. He could look particularly intimidating when Aramis or Athos’ well-being was the subject.
“That is, I’ve often wondered if the effects build over time. He’s not often confused is he?”
“Sorry, sorry…”
Aramis only realized Porthos addressed that to him when he was being steadied from his flinch at Porthos’ booming laughter.
“Depends on yer view of a sound mind.” Porthos said before he sobered in the face of the man’s amused expression. “Aramis has mentioned similar thinkin’ about lingering symptoms.”
“Has he?”
The man in question felt the doctor’s keen eyes shift to him but all he could manage was a smile. He hoped it was a smile and not a contortion of his features that would make the man concerned for his health.
“Well that’s a discussion for another time. Let’s have him laying down to see to that arm. Any nausea?”
Aramis knew the answer to that question would not come with words and made a frantic motion. He hoped it was Porthos he slapped and not the doctor. Then he decided he didn’t care as much about either man as he tipped forward.
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“Very kind of you to bring that up. Though I’d recommend only the lightest of fare for Monsieur Aramis.” The physician didn’t disguise the wrinkling of his nose.
Porthos had caught Aramis before he tumbled off the bed but he hadn’t been able to redirect his face in time. He’d helped the doctor clean the floor and his boots in recompense once they’d had Aramis laying down. A chamber pot now lay in easy reach.
“That was assumed.” Athos clarified.
He brought the tray he balanced with both hands to the bedside, silently running his eyes over Aramis’ prone figure. “The rest is for Porthos.”
Porthos was impressed. Richelieu’s penalty hadn’t depleted Desmarais’ coffers enough that they did without luxury. He spied salted meats and what might have been candied fruit within the offerings. Aramis would be disappointed that his empty stomach would not be allowed any of the baron’s bounty.
“None for yourself?” The doctor looked up from where he was clearing the aftermath of his treatment from the table. “Or will you be joining us?”
“I’ve been sent to retrieve you Dr. Auclair. Your work is completed?”
The elder man inclined his head. “Edouard, please.”
Porthos expected that meant Athos was dining with them and sending the doctor down to dinner. Then again, it might mean Athos was joining their host and ensuring Aramis and Porthos remained in their assigned quarters.”
Athos nodded. “You’ve removed the ball?”
“Not easily,” Dr. Auclair closed up his bag and crumpled the remaining soiled linens. “Your friend seems determined to maim that arm.”
Athos smirked at the observation. “He’s stubborn even when obtaining injuries.”
“We’ll keep him using the sling.” Porthos assured.
“Sling?” Athos leaned to look at the binding around the sleeping man’s chest.
“A precaution. To keep him from moving it. It’s been awhile since I’ve tended soldiers but I do remember how difficult it is for such active men to remember the rest.”
“I take it you’ve advised him to remain in bed.”
“Desmarais indicated you’d be staying overnight,” Edouard angled himself to stretch out a crick after so long bent over the bed and his instruments. “He should take the chance to rest before you journey on. Especially given the rise in bandits.”
“An unusual amount of occurrences?” Athos looked to Porthos before considering the doctor.
“Yes. Since the baron’s dismissed some of his men there’s been numerous attacks in the surrounding area. If the mistress’ health did not warrant it I’d require escort were I to travel here regularly.”
“Allain mentioned you’re lodging here.”
“Oh yes, I have been since the baroness took ill.”
“That when the attacks started gettin’ worse?”
“The baron’s…” Dr. Auclair was delicate about the knowledge he had, regardless if they were facts or rumors. “His circumstances necessitated a diminished staff and you know how such news finds it way to eager ears.”
“Especially if it’s gonna mean fillin’ waitin’ pockets…”
“From here to Le Mans, it’s nigh unsafe for any travel without guard.”
Porthos could tell from Athos’ expression he didn’t mean to doubt Edouard, but they’d not been informed movement in the baron’s land or the city had become perilous. Any more than the normal risks of travel presented.
“Ah, but you’ve witnessed for yourselves, and one of you experienced the consequences. I’m glad I was present to aid you. Now, let’s not keep our host waiting, hmm?”
Athos frowned down at Aramis, before he looked at Porthos.
“I’ll follow,” Athos told the doctor, the dismissal firm but only edging along impolite.
“Of course,” gathering his equipment, he glanced at all three soldiers before making for the door. “I’ll look in on him before I retire this evening.”
“Appreciate that,” Porthos nodded at him.
Once the door shut he crossed his arms and stepped closer to Athos. And the tray. “Only invited you?”
“I expected you’d wish to stay with him.”
“Ain’t questionin’ the baron important? Y’might need more eyes and ears, yeah?” He didn’t like any of the implications, whether his exclusion was by Desmarais or Athos’ decision.
“I’ll be fine. Stay with Aramis.”
“He passed out with the extraction, not likely to wake for a bit.”
Athos stared at Porthos, then tilted his head to look around his shoulder at the bed, before he angled his head and both brows rose.
“Yeah, well…” Porthos shrugged.
“Enjoy the baron’s generosity, I expect he means to treat us quite well and send us away with reports of his graciousness.”
He didn’t want to be a hypocrite considering he’d been after them both about fighting, but Athos’ dismissal, however mannerly worded, was just that. Porthos knew it was more about keeping him away from the baron rather than keeping him with Aramis. Then again, given their interactions of late, it might just be about having Porthos ‘guard’ Aramis.
“M’not gonna refuse a good meal.”
Athos smiled and stepped away to allow Porthos access to the food.
“If what Auclair claims about the roads is true then any investigation in Le Mans must wait – our priority is securing the taxes.”
“Can’t argue that, unless we head there tomorrow. Could do a bit of askin’ around.”
“Not with him ‘one-armed’ as it were.”
“Not with him at all. Baron might let him remain here while we go.”
“His injuries are not so great that he needs to be abed, we can collect the taxes and head for Paris. We’ll pursue the smuggled wine after we confer with the Captain.”
“Shame to lose the lead, and if those ‘eager ears’ find out we’re here they might go underground. Easy enough for us to look into in the city, Aramis can rest or follow-up here. He’s persuasive.”
“He also lacks restraint.”
“S’worked in our favor before.” Porthos plucked up some of the seasoned meat to drop onto his plate before deciding to take the tray over to the bed. Aramis couldn't eat any of it save the broth so he’d no need for portions – or plates.
“Porthos.”
“Just a thought…”
“One without merit.”
“Hey.”
“You’re well aware of what I meant.” Athos conceded by way of a softened expression. “See that he eats.”
Porthos hefted the thick wood tray and moved to take the other side of the bed he didn’t bother to watch Athos exit. He wriggled a bit to settle on the mattress and waited a few beats – and after a bite of poultry – to address Aramis.
“Pretty sure he ain’t waitin’ outside the door.”
The eye closer to Porthos opened. “Can’t be too careful…”
“Might’a thought of that before you got dumped off yer horse. Black and blue from yer shoulder to yer waist.”
Aramis pulled up his shirt, ducking his head into the tented ‘v’ shape in an attempt to view the bruising.
“Take it easy, will ya? Don’t think you’ve anything left in you but let’s not risk it.”
“I do apologize, if I didn’t earlier – I don’t recall.” Aramis smiled up at him as he returned his head to the comfort of the down pillow.
“You tried, and you also smacked me in the ear tryin’ to get up and ‘help’ clean.”
“Ah...well...a comprehensive apology then? I was not myself.”
Porthos shook his head and went back to sorting his meal.
“Only the broth.” Aramis eyed the piled offerings, but already knew he was sanctioned from sharing in the tiny feast.
“You heard ‘em…”
“Yes, well…”
“Y’didn’t fool Athos, you know.”
“I don’t care. ‘Without merit,’ indeed. He suspects the baron, as do we – does he mean to suss out a confession over the second course?”
Porthos took a large bite of his own ‘single’ course tray and smiled closed mouth as he chewed.
“Or does Desmarais intend to ply Athos with meat and wine until he forgets anything save the tax collection?” Aramis sniffed. “I could have spared him the trouble, the man is like a hound to the hunt, undeterred from his aim. ‘Without merit’ – it was a good idea.”
“Me and him going to Le Mans?”
“Me.”
“How’s it always about you, huh?”
“Because I might’ve remained here and persuaded any number of the residents into letting slip information. I am wounded...and charming…”
“And persistent.”
“That too.” Aramis nodded and closed his eyes. “Something is amiss, with him and with our host.”
“Well Athos seemed to get on with the brother, maybe dinner’s reconnaissance?”
“Or it can be a diversion…”
Porthos’ filling stomach got a sinking feeling that Aramis didn’t mean Athos was using his invitation to dinner for such. “Fer what?”
“For us to conduct our own investigation.”
Porthos’ fork clattered. “So much for dinner.”
“Go on and finish, it’ll take me a moment to prepare…” Aramis poked at the stiff hair near the stitching with the pads of his fingers.
“Pretty sure Athos expected us to stay here.”
“Did he? He said you were to remain with me…”
“Aramis.”
“What? Oh, yes, and to make sure I ate; so pass me the broth…”
Aramis’ interpretation of ensuring Porthos did as Athos said was more loose than when he’d explain to the Captain that it was not him who was late, but his call to aid a woman in need that delayed him, thus preventing him from being precisely on time. Porthos expected this would be met with as little chance of success and much less amusement from Athos than Treville spared Aramis. “Don’t think this is what he meant.”
Aramis opened his eyes, though it took a moment for him to focus on Porthos. “All will be well...I have a plan.”
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