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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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It is, unfortunate, that Athos finds himself back at this abhorrent inn. The only way he finds it possible to cope with yet another stretch of time spent here is the wine they offer. Luckily, Athos has plenty of money from the estate and it all converts very conveniently upon his arrival. He needs it more than ever at the moment, having only dispelled the threat of a bomb in the Court of Miracles.

And so, it is drunk that he finds himself staring at a man on a horse who could be d'Artagnan's twin brother. The bottle clutched in his hands, he stares a little closer and realises...

"It actually is you," he says with some mild surprise, the alcohol dulling his emotions beyond the numb horizon that's claimed them. "Am I not inundated by you enough? Did you bring Aramis and Porthos with you?"

He almost falls out of the saddle at the sight and he stares at Athos as if his friend is an apparition rather than a figure of flesh and blood, but when d'Artagnan confirms the sight, he smiles broadly and nearly leaps from the saddle. "Athos!" he cries, hurrying toward his friend.

"Are you trapped here too?"

Athos wipes away at droplets of red wine on his lips as he takes in the sheer force of d'Artagnan's approach. "Not trapped," he clarifies. "Though they do have a finer selection of wines than I could manage at home," he muses. "My god, is there to be a deluge?" he wonders to himself, but it's louder than he'd like it to be.

"You're drunk," he observes, with all the practice of someone commenting on rain in a wet climate.

"I just received my commission and then here I was," d'Artagnan adds. He takes a step forward, an arm raised and then quickly lowered. It is Athos, who refrains from affection, and not Aramis or Porthos, who might smother him in a hug.

"And you are here," is Athos' clipped and perfunctory reply when d'Artagnan accuses him of his inebriation. It is a normal thing for him, by which d'Artagnan is surely aware of by that point. "And you've finagled a horse," he notes, with an air of both curiosity and mild disapproval, as if the boy shouldn't be allowing himself such frivolities in such a dangerously odd place.

He stands perfectly straight as he allows his attention to roam over the boy. "I don't recall you receiving your commission."

That does confuse him more than anything else and d'Artagnan cocks his head, wondering what Athos' game is. Does he mean to needle at d'Artagnan as he had when they sparred or is he implying that d'Artagnan doesn't deserve this.

"You were there when I knelt before the king."

"And I can promise you that the last thing I remember is freeing Porthos from the Court of Miracles," Athos replies patiently as he takes in the bottle of wine in his hands, wondering if it could have erased so much time as much as d'Artagnan believes it has. "Congratulations," he allows, awkwardly and firmly. "If you have received your commission, you must have performed many charitable acts. I'm disappointed I did not witness them."

"You're not being funny!" d'Artagnan says, scowling. He knows that it's a possibility, that there may be real truth in Athos' words. That time has no meaning in this place, but it's hard to comprehend when Athos had been at his side just moments before he arrived in this mess of a hotel.

"You really don't remember?"

"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?"