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It was not the grand, sweeping architecture of the hotel that disturbed him nor the apparent technological feats to which he would have to become accustomed. He had, after all, lived in Paris, where all the latest and most important inventions made their way. The bright lights, the motorized devices, the moving doors...Those were things that he could come to an understanding, regarding their use.

No, it was the stillness. The quiet way in which people gathered for meals but didn’t really talk and then wandered the gardens in the same quiet. No threat hung over them, no call to action. D’Artagnan sat useless, feeling as if he might fly apart from inaction and it was only his first days yet. If he was bound here as long as some people suggested, he thought he might go mad.

There was, at least, one distraction that had apparently--blessedly--not changed in the intervening centuries. It was how d’Artagnan found himself at the stables, befriending and saddling up an energetic gelding. He had regarded the young Musketeer imperiously until bribed with an apple and now d’Artagnan could lead the horse out to the surrounding hotel grounds.

D’Artagnan mounted and kicked the horse into a trot and then a canter. It didn’t take long before they gave into their spirits and moved up to a gallop, ranging about the grounds.

At last, if only for a moment, he felt himself again. Caught up in the energy, the sheer joy of riding, d’Artagnan no longer felt quite like he was about to explode out of his skin. Instead he felt alive, raising a fist and shouting his joy.

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"While wine has given me much cause not to remember a great deal in my life, I can assure you that this time not even alcohol has caused such a gap in my memory," Athos says calmly. "I apologise, because I know this is not what you want to hear, but I do not recall a single thing you speak of."

It stings in a way that d'Artagnan knows he has no right to feel. It is not Athos' fault but d'Artagnan is still disappointed that his friend does not remember the moment of his commission.

"I've earned my place among you, at last. That much is clear."

"You had always earned your place amongst us. A pauldron does not change your merit or worth," Athos says and perhaps he sounds dismissive of the Musketeers, but it is not his meaning. He has watched many people, including d'Artagnan and Porthos both work their way up through the ranks without a pauldron, yet never flinching as they accepted dutiful and difficult tasks. "Now, the King merely commands you officially."

"It's still the only proof I've accomplished anything in months," he says, exhaustion from the last few weeks' events catching up to him and making him petulant.

"There are...many events between us," d'Artagnan admits. "Perhaps I should accept this as due leave."

"Proof is in the mind," Athos patiently reminds him, the quirk of his lips the only evidence that a smile might be working to present itself on his face. "I would have you tell me what's changed," he offers, thinking that there cannot be so much that has passed that he should not ask. "Perhaps once I am more sober, but you should not consider me disinterested."

"If you've got the coin for a meal, maybe I can tell you as you drift back down to earth?" d'Artagnan suggests.

"I can't pay my way for the meal as yet..." he admits. "That's due to yet another of those events I've got to explain.

Athos has had more than enough money to pay for anything he wants and has through the years, though it's hardly something he likes to capitalize upon. "I've got more than enough. It's a strange currency when I walk through these doors, but it turns back to sous and livres when I return to Paris," he notes. "And where were you? There does not seem to be much out here to explore, given the boundaries of sky."

"It's more pay than I've got to my name at the moment," he says, a little bitterly. "I'll get you back though I swear. Every sous and livre..."

"In time," Athos agrees. It's not that he cannot afford the money, but he also would never rob any of his friends the ability to pay their debts back. "Luckily, I have made my acquaintance with the bar, here," is his wry remark, given that he had done with with quickness and aplomb.

D'Artagnan laughs a little, clapping Athos on the shoulder in a gesture that feels inadequate. "It does seem to be your way."

Athos regards the hand and drifts backwards calmly. While he is sure that their friendship has progressed, Athos still feels rather uneasy with the comfortable nature of such a touch and it is all Anne's fault. Casual touches can no longer be that when he still feels her phantom (or not a phantom any longer). "You seem in excellent spirits. Is it only your commission that has you so?"

It stings more than it should. D'Artagnan has known Athos for some time now and known that he is not free with his emotions the way that Aramis and Porthos are. Even so, the contrast between his behavior in this moment and the relative fondness he's come to expect from Athos is a disappointing one.

"At this point? It's all I've got."

Athos' confusion feels solid, though he imagines it is because there is much that must be discussed. He gestures into the inn, allowing d'Artagnan to go first. "There is much to tell me, by the sounds of it," he opines, sure that they are only about to scratch the surface of what he has missed. "A bottle of wine will help and I'm sure you won't hesitate to share."

"Yes, a glass will likely make the telling easier," d'Artagnan says. A meal and a drink, he's learned, can help the worst hurts. Warm company, such as with his brothers, is an even better balm but he has no idea if Athos will submit to such companionship.

Athos leads them into the restaurant and settles himself down in a comfortable seat at the bar that he has come to know as his own in recent days. It suits him, of course, but that is helped along by the fact that he spends his time here willingly. "As I said, the last I recall is freeing Porthos from the Court, so you will have to fill in the gaps."

With all the practice of habit, d'Artagnan slides into the seat next to him, perusing the drinks on offer.

"It's been some weeks since we did that," he explains. "We were given several missions since, including one involving the criminal Labarge."

"Labarge," Athos echoes, his face the picture of confusion as he summons up a bottle of brandy, not minding what d'Artagnan would prefer because he thinks to keep this one all to himself. "He's a captain in the provinces, is he not? What is his crime that we would be sent after him?"

"Racketeering, destruction of property, arson...among other things," d'Artagnan says. He sighs and signals for red wine, thinking he'll need the bottle tonight.

"He burned my father's farm to the ground."

It is not what Athos expected and is far worse than anything he might have imagined d'Artagnan would say. "I'm sorry," Athos manages. He might be awful with sharing his emotions, but there is very little else to say in such a case. "Was he brought to justice?" is his next, more immediate question.

D'Artagnan stares into his red wine, filling up the glass higher than is typical for him. He doesn't drink to appreciate the wine, but to numb what is still raw at the surface. "Eventually," he says at last. "We fought the Red Guard for him, ended up causing the matter to be decided as a tournament. The good Cardinal hired Labarge and made him a Red Guard to ensure he had someone to beat a Musketeer."

He takes a long pull of wine, thinking he sees what Athos does in this wine. "Treville made me champion for the Musketeers. I killed him."

Athos does not scowl at the mention of the Cardinal's sins, but it is a close thing. He holds little affection or respect for the man, but there are times when even the Cardinal can surprise him with how far he takes his actions. "I am sorry you had to take his life, but glad that you found retribution." Athos knows that both things can weigh heavily upon a man. If he were Aramis or Porthos, perhaps he might ask if d'Artagnan is all right.

"Drink," he says instead. "It sounds as if you need it."

It is not the first life he's had to take, though certainly it was the first time it had happened so publicly. D'Artagnan lifts his glance in an exhausted toast, nodding.

"I can see why you take respite in this."

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