#musketeermarch2021
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Penance
Swords clash around Athos, and he thinks that he is too hungover for this kind of noise, but it’s not like he has a choice. A rapier comes at him and screeches against his own, steel on steel, and it’s a good thing that he knows how to do this in his sleep. Even with a monster headache and bile rising in his throat, he moves his feet like a dancer, twirls around his enemy, and his sword arm guides his blade on muscle memory and instinct. By the time his brain catches up with his body, he’s standing above a dying man, his rapier buried in guts and muscle, and Athos pulls it out with a nasty slurp.
Around him, the skirmish is still ongoing, three other Musketeers still engaged with badly trained but ferocious Huguenots. Athos’ eyes are drawn to the new recruit who joined the regiment only a week ago, a few months after Athos. He’s young - a boy, really, no more than eighteen or nineteen, and his dizzying speed makes Athos - only twenty-two himself - feel old.
He’s young, but oh, he’s good.
Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, he’s using both with ambidextrous proficiency. His style is elegant with a flourish, and although Athos thinks that his theatrics cost him in efficiency, the young man’s quicksilver reflexes make up for that flaw. As he drives his opponent backwards, long black curls whipping about his pretty face, Athos has the impression that he’s watching a cat play with its prey. It ends with a quick slice along the Huguenot’s carotid, and he falls, blood spraying across the Musketeer’s new uniform.
When the man is on the ground, a scarlet pool spreading around his head, the recruit does something surprising: Blood-spattered, he wipes at his face, then he kneels beside his dying foe and crosses himself. One gloved hand on the gurgling Huguenot’s chest, his lips begin to move, and from where Athos is standing, he thinks he hears Latin - a prayer.
As the other two Musketeers finish their duels, Athos continues to watch the lad - Aramis, his wine-drenched memory offers. With an expression as solemn as it was almost gleeful before, he recites old words of mercy and, as the dying man’s chest stills and his twitching stops, the young soldier reaches up to to close his eyes. He seems completely absorbed by what he’s doing, as if it was a ritual of utmost importance, a show of respect. Then he gets up and reaches into the folds of his shirt to pull out a pendant he wears around his neck - a wooden crucifix, Athos recognizes. He kisses it with reverence and tucks it back out of sight.
Athos steps closer.
“Do you always pray for those you kill?” he asks laconically.
“Do you not?” Aramis asks back, a provocative glint in his eyes.
Athos chuckles darkly. “What’s the use? Prayers are not going to help anyone who’s just been dispatched to Hell. Or were you praying for your own forgiveness?”
“Take your pick,” the young Musketeer says, his face breaking into an enigmatic smirk.
“Athos!!”
Whatever is happening behind his back, whatever his shouting fellow-soldier sees coming - Athos is too slow or too drunk to whip around in time.
Luckily, Aramis isn’t.
The pistol in the recruit’s hand comes out of nowhere, and the ball whistles past Athos’ ear and over his shoulder a split second later. A grunt and the sound of a dropping body tell Athos that Aramis’ shot hit home, and when he’s finally managed to turn, he sees one of the Huguenots dead on the ground, this time for good. Blood seeps lazily from the hole in his forehead where the ball entered his skull. The man’s eyes are frozen wide in surprise; a pistol, cocked and ready to fire, lies beside him.
Athos swallows.
I need to stop drinking.
He sees his approaching Musketeer brothers exhale in relief. They nod at him and at Aramis - a quick acknowledgement of Athos’ luck and Aramis’ competence. To be on the safe side, they proceed to check the other bodies. No one wants another, potentially deadly resurrection.
Embarrassment throbbing somewhere underneath his headache, Athos turns back to Aramis. The young soldier is already reloading his pistol and sporting a contented grin.
“You’re welcome,” he says merrily.
“I didn’t thank you,” Athos shoots back and isn’t entirely sure why. Something about this cocky recruit is making him bristle.
“No, you didn’t,” Aramis says easily. “But I heard you generally don’t talk much, so I’ll simply assume you’re silently grateful.” He stops, scrutinizing Athos with dark, intelligent eyes. “Unless you aren’t and would’ve preferred a bullet in your back. Curiously, I’ve heard the others say that you-”
“THANK you,” Athos cuts him off, glaring at Aramis. He really doesn’t want to discuss the rumours about his alleged death wish with that novice.
The younger man tilts his head and narrows his eyes, as if in thought. Then his expression morphs into a bright smile, and he glides into an elegant bow, doffing his hat with a flourish.
“You’re welcome, brother.”
Taken off guard, Athos lifts an eyebrow. He’s not sure whether he wants to strangle the cocksure youngster or smile along with him. His attitude is both confusing and disarming. Or perhaps Athos is simply too hungover to see through Aramis’ smooth veneer.
Before he can come up with anything else to say, Aramis has walked past him and knelt by the man he just killed to repeat the earlier ritual. In deep concentration, he doesn’t seem to notice the other two Musketeers ambling past him, shaking their heads.
“What’s up with him?” one of them says to Athos, pointing a thumb. “Is he a priest or a Musketeer?”
Good question, Athos thinks. Whatever Aramis is, one thing is sure: He’s a bloody good shot. And he’s going to drive Athos crazy.
(For those of you who prefer reading and commenting on AO3, here's the link:)
#musketeermarch2021#musketeermarch#fanfic#the musketeers#bbc musketeers#the three musketeers#prompt: prayer/religion#athos#aramis#welcome to the brotherhood#origin fic
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Musketeer March 2021
Day 21: Father
A short on how Captain Treville realised that he had become a father to the Musketeers without even realizing it. Enjoy!
Captain Treville had never had children, had never had time for children, but as he stood on the balcony of the garrison watching Aramis and Athos make bets on who would win during Porthos and D'Artagnan's sparring match he realised that he already had four children.
Even if they were supposedly adults.
The four musketeers, while good soldiers and honourable men, had given Treville enough grey hairs over the years to rival those of a proud grandfather.
And they weren't even his biological children.
They were stubborn like him. Honourable and loyal. They fought for those who could not care for themselves. They always tried to do the right thing, even if it meant that they ended up in trouble.
The four musketeers did not really have any family of their own besides each other. But standing there, watching them tease each other and fight and laugh, Treville realised that they were family.
His family.
And his role as their captain had resulted in him sighing in a manner that reminded him very much of his own father when Treville had done something stupid in his youth.
#musketeermarch2021#musketeermarch#captain treville#papa treville#athos#aramis#d'artagnan#porthos#bbc musketeers#prompt challenge#prompts#found family
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Musketeer March Day 10 - Aramis
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Prompt: Ice/Cold
"D'Artagnan, no-!"
Water splashed over the surrounding layer of ice as the Gascon dove into the frozen lake, leaving a trail of weapons belt and doublet behind. Aramis followed in a sprint along the edge without breaking stride, leaving Porthos to dispatch of the last of their assailants.
"d'Artagnan!" he bellowed, "Athos!"
Jesus!
Rather than stopping to watch, he ran towards the horses and led the animals to the edge of the lake, undoing the reins on one of them and crept closer to the hole Athos and d'Artagnan had disappeared into. Christ. His breath clouded before him as he exhaled harshly, his heart thumping in his chest for reasons other than the recent fight. Come on, come out- "Athos! d'Artagnan!"
"Aramis!" Porthos had approached, looking from Aramis to the lake in search of their friends. "They didn't--"
"One of them dragged Athos in - d'Artagnan went in after him. Porthos, no-!" He yanked Porthos back when the other man instinctively made to run over the lake. "We need a fire, as quick as you can-"
A dark head broke the surface with a mighty roar and an arm shot out of the frigid water, the hand desperately grappling for purchase. As if the conversation a second ago had never happened, both Aramis and Porthos broke into a run.
"S-stop-no-!"
For the second time Aramis yanked at Porthos to stop him and threw the reins in his hand towards the hole in the lake. "Catch it!"
"I c-can't! Athos, he's-" d'Artagnan was trembling too much to string together his words but his predicament became clear when they saw the second head bobbing just over the surface next to him. In the bleak morning light, with his eyes closed and his face pallid, Athos looked dead.
"d'Artagan, listen," Aramis said with forced calm, "You have to let go of Athos to catch the reins. It'll only be a moment - you won't lose him."
"No-Aramis-"
"d'Artagnan." Aramis spoke softly now, locking eyes with the Gascon. "You can do this. You'll catch him, and we'll pull both of you out."
The indecision lasted a moment longer before d'Artagnan gave a jerky nod. Aramis glanced at Athos's limp figure in worry before turning to Porthos and nodding.
"Ready?" he asked the Gascon.
"I'm ready."
"'ere we go."
The leather straps flew in the air and fell right next to d'Artagnan's head with masterful accuracy. A look of pain flashed over the Gascon's face right before he took a huge breath, and two things happened at once: d'Artagnan heaved himself out to grab the reins with a cry of exertion, and Athos slipped under water.
Porthos dug his heels in the muddy earth as the strap tensed. Aramis's eyes were fixed on the hole in the lake, his breath held.
With a firm grip on the leather now, d'Artagnan dove back in.
Seconds ticked by...
... and he came out with Athos held close to him.
"Hold on now!" Porthos shouted, and started to pull. Rather than standing idly by, Aramis let go of the breath he'd been holding and left Porthos to pull his friends out of the water; he ran to the horses and set to unloading the blankets and arranging the supplies to tend his friends. Only a few minutes later he was helping d'Artagnan over to dry ground with an arm around his waist, and Porthos was dragging the unconscious form of Athos onward.
"I'm fine - I'm f-fine - look over Athos! Athos-"
"Don't worry, we have you both. Sit." Aramis sat the Gascon down with his back to a large tree and set to divesting him of his garments. "Porthos?"
"On it." Porthos was removing Athos's sodden clothing as well. His teeth chattering, d'Artagnan attempted to lean forward to remove his boots but was too uncoordinated; Aramis shook his head and gently pushed him back. "Stay put."
Five minutes later, both men were wrapped in all the cloaks and blankets the four Musketeers had had with them; Porthos was sat next to d'Artagnan with his back to the tree and had Athos in his arms, rubbing life back to the limbs.
"Why's he-" d'Artagnan gasped, still shaking to pieces, "-not waking up? He was in the water - only a minute - longer-"
Porthos shook his head, having no answer, but before Aramis returned from gathering food for a fire, the swordsman had already begun showing signs of returning to consciousness, groaning and beginning to shake.
Soon enough, they were sat around the glorious heat of a fire.
"Remind me never the take this road again," d'Artagnan mumbled grumpily, leaning closer towards the flames with a shiver, "especially in winter."
"As soon as you discover an alternative," Porthos grunted beside him. d'Artagnan glanced over at Athos in concern and pursed his lips before turning his eyes to the fire again. He had lost his father in an inn at the edge of a frozen lake, just like this one, exactly three years ago. He'd been thinking of him when the bandits had attacked. His heart shook with a chill that had nothing to do with his recent activities when he recalled the moment he'd thought he'd lose Athos to the waters of the lake. He looked up in surprise when he felt the grip of a hand on his shoulder.
Athos was looking at him with silent gratitude and pride.
D'Artagnan ducked his head to hide his embarrassment. In a moment, his heart was warmed, and it was only his limbs that were cold again.
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Musketeer March: day one, sewing
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Prompt: sewing.
Characters: Constance Bonacieux, Aramis.
Summary: Constance has always found that sewing is a calming thing, and a way to work through her thoughts.
~~~
Constance has always found sewing to be a calming thing.
The motions are second nature, and she doesn’t even have to think about it anymore. Prep the needle and the thread, then push the needle in and out of the fabric, and repeat until the project is finished.
So, Constance lets her mind drift.
She thinks about the people she ran into in the market earlier that morning, or whatever her husband’s currently working on, or, more recently, about the four musketeers who’ve charmed their way into her heart.
Because how could they not?
Her boys are charming, with their kind smiles and gentle words, that is undeniable. And of course, she knows that that is only the side they show her, that there’s a fierceness in them that no one could tame. Constance thinks that knowing that side is there, that knowing of the fierce loyalty and and lurking memories, only makes those smiles worth so much more.
If someone can see those things and smile, Constance thinks, as she threads her needle for the second time, then they are much stronger than they think.
Because there’s strength in bravery, and there’s strength in battle scars and the survivors that bare them, but there’s also strength in kindness, and somehow, she’s lucky enough that her boys have both.
“Madame?” A familiar voice says, and Constance is hit with the urge to roll her eyes.
“I told you to call me Constance,” she says, without looking up. She knows who is there, and sure enough, Aramis steps into her line of sight. He knows the motions as well as she does, and Constance wonders if that’s why he came.
Aramis is quiet though, and if Constance meets his eyes, she has a good idea of what she’ll find. It happens to all four of them, her boys showing up late at night, ghost haunting their steps and bitter memories lingering in their gaze.
There’s a moment of silence, and then Constance is getting to her feet. She’s crossing the room and shoves the shirt she was mending into Aramis’ hands, before she thinks about it a moment more. Because the boys all feel better with something they can do with their hands, and it’s not like that’s the only thing Constance has to work on.
“Need some help, Madame?” Aramis asks, as though she hadn’t just given him her project. She doesn’t answer, and only offers a needle and thread.
Needless to say, Aramis takes them.
“If you’re going to sit here and watch, then you might as well be useful.” Constance tells him, and the words may seem harsh, but her words are gentle. If Aramis wanted the loud kind of comfort, he wouldn’t be here, sitting in her quiet kind of home. So she puts him to work, knowing the familiar motions will keep his mind away from whatever is preying on it.
“Of course, Madame.” She glares. “Constance, anything I can do to be of service.”
And then they sit together, alone in the quiet, except for the almost silent motions and the flickering candlelight.
Sewing, Constance knows, clears the mind. And if this is what she has to offer her boys, then Constance will welcome it.
#fanfic#my fanfic#bbc musketeers#musketeermarch#musketeermarch2021#constance bonacieux#aramis#prompt fic
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Musketeer March Day 1 - Sewing
(let's pretend this isn't a day late, shall we)
Presenting two short drabble-esqu things, my first Musketeers fic, featuring Aramis
Ft. Small Aramis (René) and Pauline
"René!"
The boy's head snapped up, "Pauline? What's happened?"
"Mamá is going to kill me." She dropped down beside René as he sat up.
In lieu of a reply he lifted an eyebrow.
"Look!" Pauline held out a colorful skirt, which upon closer inspection sported an impressive tear down one side.
René's eyes widened, "How did that happen?? And your new one, too?"
"I was…. Taking a walk.."
"Try again?"
"Fine… But, but you can't tell anyone René. Promise."
"Promise. Now what happened?"
"I was in the market, and I got sticky buns! Well a sticky bun and then there were these boys and they had a dog -"
"You went to the market by yourself? The big one?"
"Don't say that so loud!"
"And that's where you ripped your skirt?"
"I fell," Pauline moved her skirt so the scrapes on her knees were visible, "and I think it got caught on something. Can you fix it for me? Please?"
René rolled his eyes as he reached under his bed for the small kit he kept there, "You better have some of that bun left."
"Thank you!" Pauline tackled him with a hug before skipping out of the room, leaving René trying to thread a needle.
--------------------------------------------------
Ft. Aramis, Porthos and a sleeping Athos
"It's alright, Porthos," Aramis patted his friend on the shoulder, "I'll take tonight's watch."
Porthos looked from Aramis to the sleeping figure on the bed, "If you're sure."
He was not going to turn down the opportunity to sleep in his bed tonight instead of a chair or the floor, especially when Aramis seemed keen on taking up the duty of making sure their mutual friend did not meet any further trouble that night.
"I'll come back in the morning," Porthos yawned, he was more tired than he had realised, "I'll pick up your stuff first though."
"Thank you, my friend."
"G'night, 'Mis," Porthos grabbed his hat as he made his way to the door, Aramis' goodnight following him.
Porthos gone, Aramis' attention returned fully to Athos, who had not moved from the moment Porthos had set him down on the bed.
They had found him nursing a bottle of wine and decided to take him home early and spare him a worse hangover in the morning. Athos had been surprisingly unresisting, merely glowering at them from under his hat as they had relived him of the bottle and manoeuvred him out of the tavern. Aramis suspected that he was not drunk yet and this was him letting them help him, in his own way. Either that, or he was completely wasted.
He did not seem to notice as they divested him of every last bit of leather and metal and was asleep almost instantly as he made contact with his bed.
His breathing seemed regular and the room was warm so, for the moment, Aramis was left with nothing to do. He was not tired enough yet to sleep, but he also was not going to leave Athos alone.
Looking around he noticed a small heap of fabric tossed onto a small chest. Closer inspection found it to be a shirt. A shirt with several rips in it.
After a few minutes of searching, Aramis located the needle and thread he knew Athos kept and, after lighting another candle, began sewing up the rips.
The motions were familiar and before long the shirt was mended and Aramis felt relaxed enough to try and sleep.
#Musketeermarch#Musketeermarch2021#Lance writes#Musketeermarch day 1#Sewing#Aramis#Pauline#René#Porthos#Athos#Fic
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day 1!
Musketeer March Day 1 is complete and to read here on ao3 if you’d like, the prompt was: sewing!
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Musketeer March day 2 is up! ^-^
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801925
#musketeermarch#musketeermarch2021#bbc musketeers#porthos#sam writes#writing tag#it's dumb but i kinda like it#on this blog we stan porthos#he is all smiles and sunshine and a heart too good and pure
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Musketeer March Day 2 - Ice/Cold
In which I offer you a dread filled fic at 200 words! Please accept my (late) addition.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794428/chapters/73355709
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Musketeer March Day 1
So, I’m a day late, but I’m getting involved in drabbles for Musketeer March.
Credit for the prompt list I’m following goes to @privateerstudies. You can find the list here: https://privateerstudies.tumblr.com/post/643477557598142464/musketeer-march
You can find my submission here:
Not Just Woman’s Work on AO3
Not Just Woman’s Work on FFN
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Musketeer March 2021
Day 6: Swords
So I wrote this based on an idea for an oc/Athos or Athos/Reader story a few months back. And upon seeing this prompt I thought it would work perfectly. This is my first reader/athos fic, and if you're not into that it's okay. Also I am aware that there are many grammatical errors. Enjoy!
"You are possibly the worst I've ever trained," Athos grumbled as he circled yn, expertly twirling his sword.
Yn began to push herself off the muddy floor, "thanks for the encouragement".
"I'm here to train you, yn," Athos paused as they repositioned themselves into their opening stances.
"I hadn't guessed ," she grunted as their swords clashed.
Their duel was rough and definitely unladylike as yn ended up on her ass, waist deep in mud, as her sword clattered to the side for the fifth time that day.
"You know, maybe I'm just not cut out for duelling. We both know I'm much better in a physical fight," Yn pointed out as she stood up.
"She's got a point there," Porthos, her sparring partner for the past month, pointed out from where he sat on the sidelines.
Aramis sat next to him, cleaning his pistol, laughter in his eyes.
Athos gave a long suffering sigh as he began to pack away his sword. Yn was good. She was smart, agile and fast. Yn certainly wasn't a bad shot, and she was good in a knife fight. However, her dueling abilities matched those of a young child.
And if she were to act as personal guard to the Queen herself, yn would need to improve, fast.
"I take it duelling is not going too well?" D'Artagnan asked upon his arrival to the garrison's courtyard.
The image he was met with was unforgettable to say the least. Yn was doing her best to clean off all the mud on her legs, while trying not to lose her grip on her muddied sword, which was not going well.
Athos had mud stains on his shirt, although they were far fewer than yn's, and he could not have looked more exhausted if he tried as he stowed away his sword.
Porthos was barely containing his laughter at what was no doubt the most ridiculous duelling lesson he had seen yet.
Aramis was the only one out of the four to look slightly sane. The sun shining against his hair like a halo. And for once he was the one staying out of trouble.
"Whatever," Yn started sarcastically, " could have given you that idea, D'art?"
D'Artagnan began to laugh, setting off Porthos who now sat gripping the wooden table like a lifeline.
Yn ignored them as she complained about how she would never get the mudstains out of her pants.
And walking in on this disastrous scene was Captain Treville. He felt a warmth flood his chest as he observed the chaos before him.
Yn had only been there for four months, four months in which she gave the Musketeers absolute hell, but she had helped these soldiers, these good men, to find a moment of normalcy in a time where they barely had any peace.
Yn may have been something different. Something wild, with her feral smile and innocent eyes, but she had the potential to be a good soldier and an even better Musketeer.
Granted she ever learned how to use a sword, correctly, of course.
#musketeermarch2021#musketeermarch#aramis#bbc musketeers#athos#d'artagnan#porthos#prompt challenge#prompts#captain treville#athos/reader#athos imagine#reader insert
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Musketeer March, Day 6 - Swords
(Many thanks to @scionofqueens for the screenshots and the editing help 💛!)
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Day 5 - “Athos”
"You said... your name was Athos?"
The voice was frail, the question itself tremulous. A feeble hand twitched on the blanket as if to reach out, but desisted. "Forgive me... Do I know you, monsieur?"
"Forget Athos, Madame. Olivier. Remember?"
"Olivier..." The old woman tested the name on her tongue as if calling on her memories. "Olivier.." Her blue eyes widened. "Oh!"
He smiled, covering her hand with his. "Indeed, dear Madame."
"Oh, but..! How handsome you have become! You.. sweet child..."
Athos's smile grew as he squeezed the woman's fingers, tilting his head to give her a better view. In the next room, beyond the curtain in the doorway, Aramis, there upon his friend's request, was listening silently.
"How come you to be here, how did you find me? Ah, Olivier... A lifetime, child-!" she coughed, "A lifetime!"
He sighed, smile fading. "A life... Indeed."
"But you look different now," she noted, frowning as she took in his uniform, "And you are not in Pinon?"
"No. I am no longer the Comte. I serve in his Majesty's regiment of the Musketeers now."
"You're not the Comte-?" she looked affronted, prompting Athos to shake his head.
"My father has died many years ago."
He waited patiently as she took her time, trying to process this information. She was wheezing slightly at each breath, watching him keenly.
"You're a... Musketeer now?" she said at last, "A solider?"
"I am."
She smiled, looking at him with something like maternal pride. "You, dear child... have gotten your own way."
"In the end," he affirmed quietly, nodding. He did not tell her what it took for him to find himself where he was.
"Good-" she gasped as her breath hitched and she jerked forward a little, clutching at her chest. Her daughter, until then sitting quietly in a corner, rushed forward. The old woman doubled over in a coughing fit; Athos rose and watched until the commotion subdued. Then he pursed his lips and pulled the young woman aside.
"Has a physician seen her?"
She shook her head, her eyes on the ground. Athos retrieved his coin purse, took her hand and placed it in her palm. "Call one. Buy coal and blankets. Is there anything else you need?"
The woman seemed amazed at this unexpected generosity; after a few moments of astonishment, she shook her head. Taking his hat under his arm, Athos turned. "I'll come again tomorrow, Mademoiselle. Good day."
"Athos..."
Athos stopped at the sound of his name, dragged in with a difficult breath. The old woman did not open her eyes. She was remembering. "Athos. That was... the family name.." A smile passed over her lips as she looked contended, a piece of memory falling into place.
Athos and Aramis left the poor house and stepped out into the night.
"So," Aramis said after several minutes, glancing at his friend, "your Christian name is 'Olivier'."
"An astute observation," Athos muttered.
"Well, of course," Aramis returned, then sobered, and gently patted his friend's back. "You're doing right by her, Athos."
"Thank you for your observation, René."
"Are we on a first-name basis now?"
"You tell me."
"Tell me... Have I ever told you about a priest friend of mine who took a pilgrimage to Mount Athos in 1617?"
"No, but I have a feeling you are about to," Athos returned with a long-suffering sigh.
"It is a good tale. Now, in the spring of 1617...."
The two friends joined the evening bustle on the Rue Fontaine and their voices mixed into that of the crowd.
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Musketeer March: day three, sleep (alt)
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Prompt: sleep (alt 5).
Characters: Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d’Artagnan.
Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846991
Summary: When your life consists of fighting battles and running missions for the king, sleep often means the same as trust.
~~~
In their line of work, Athos has always found sleep to be something treasured.
In the rush of a mission, or in the midst of a battle, there’s something special about being able to let down your guard, to let your mind wander. It’s trust, and that is the only way he can describe it.
It’s knowing that, without even a moment’s doubt, the people around you will watch your back, while they know that you have theirs.
And now, with his partners by his side, and the starlit sky far above their heads and a fire roaring on the ground, he knows that he was right to call this feeling trust. Because what else could it be? He trusts these men with his life, his past, his everything.
If any of them were in danger, Athos doesn’t know what lines he would and wouldn’t cross.
But none of that matters, because tonight is a quiet night, a gentle one, and these nights aren’t meant for thoughts of danger.
“Someone’s thinking,” Aramis says, his voice loud amongst the quiet night. It’s not particularly surprising that Aramis is the one to point it out, because his friend has always been good at reading people, and well, cold forests have always made it harder for Aramis to let down his walls.
Athos smiles and he answers, because what else is he to do? “Only wondering how I got stuck with such an idiotic lot of partners.”
Porthos chuckles, and d’Artagnan laughs, and the familiar sounds, hopeful and bright, warm Athos more than the fire ever could.
d’Artagnan grins, and before Athos knows it, he’s practically got a Gascon resting his head in his lap. Which, of course, doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. d’Artagnan has always been the most affectionate of their group, second only to Aramis, and third to Porthos, while Athos is usually the one being piled upon.
Athos sighs, rolling his eyes and getting comfortable, as though he doesn’t love every moment like this. And these moments are far and in between, because no one in Paris wants a relationship between men, let alone four of them, and that makes these nights all the more special.
Besides, his partners have long since learned that he loves the soft, soft attention that these nights have come to promise.
He sighs again, but d’Artagnan merely grins up at him, and that look really is brighter than all the stars in the sky, and really, how could Athos not smile back. “Must you do this every night?”
“You know you love it.” d’Artagnan says, and well, they all know he’s right.
Somehow, that’s a cue for Porthos and Aramis to join in, each one laughing as they do so. Porthos ends up on Athos’ left, and Aramis besides him, and somehow, it’s peaceful.
The stars above them are bright, and the campfire still dances, sending smoke into the night sky, and around them, the forest teams with life. Still, it’s quiet, as though it were just the four of them.
And it is, in a way.
Because somehow, each one of them had ended up adrift. In a new place, a new world, a new life, and somehow, that had led them to now. To four people and four loves, and somehow, everything’s turning out alright.
Love, he thinks, closing his eyes, that’s the only kind of word for this kind of closeness, this kind of trust.
And with that thought, he drifts off, thinking of the men he’s given his heart.
#fanfic#my fic#prompt fic#bbc musketeers#musketeermarch#musketeermarch2021#ot4#athos/porthos/aramis/d'artagnan#athos#porthos#aramis#d'artagnan#i should be asleep#but words went brrr#i don't even know if i like this#but i'm postin it anyways
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Musketeer March Day 2 - Ice/Cold
(let's pretend I can post the work for the prompt on the day its for shall we?)
Winter
Aramis had been quieter than was his wont as of late and, although if asked he would not admit it, Athos was beginning to feel worried.
Porthos was of no help - if he knew what was going on, he certainly was not going to enlighten Athos.
Thus, Athos began the mission of discovering exactly what had brought about this disconcerting change in his friend.
By the end of the week he had made six key observations.
Observation one was, obviously, Aramis' uncharacteristic silence. He would reply in as few words as possible, as if talking exhausted him. Athos, familiar with such practices, found it an ill fit for the usually eloquent Aramis.
Observation two - Porthos did not seem to notice or pay attention to this change. In fact he seemed to be taking enough for the both of them now.
Observation three - Aramis was avoiding anything that might resemble a social life. If he did go out for anything, it usually happened after some cajoling or insistence on Porthos' behalf.
Observation four - Aramis' smiles, which were becoming less frequent, rarely reached his eyes anymore.
Observation five - Aramis could now be found sleeping in any patch of sun with alarming frequency.
Observation six - Treville did not appear to notice this behaviour or, at the very least, consider it worthy of his attention.
A biting gust of wind snapped Athos from his musings and he shivered for a moment. Winter had arrived at last, bringing cold and, soon, snow and ice.
Athos liked Winter , the cold was refreshing and brought no painful memories with it. He had met Anne in Spring , they had married in Summer and then the following Summer she had killed Thomas.
He remembered playing in the snow as a child, he and Thomas would build snowmen. If they were lucky and the lake had frozen solid, Papá would take them skating.
Looking across the table now, he got the distinct feeling that Aramis did not share his sense of relief at the coming cold and, like the frost and ice that had slowly moved across the lake until it froze, the realization crept up upon him.
He did not say anything, nor in the coming days did Athos try to fill the silence, but when the first snow fell he found himself standing at Aramis' door armed with food and wine, and orders from Treville to take a day off.
#musketeermarch#musketeermarch2021#Day 2#Ice/cold#Lance writes#Aramis#Athos#Bbc Musketeers#Fanfic#Little bit angsty#?
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day 2!
My fic for Musketeer March 2021 day 2 can be found here! Kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!
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