[spoilers for Muskteers 2x06]

[temperamentalsteel]

Twice now, he had acted only with the King's safety in mind. Twice he had tried to be the man of honor that Musketeers were supposed to be. Twice all he had earned was censure from his Majesty.

How could the King have believed that d'Artagnan would ever have done him harm? In taking the pistol, in playing Marmion's game, they should have known it was a blatant play for time, yet the King had only raged and admonished him. It was just as before, when they had obeyed their King's whims to go to the tavern because no loyal Musketeer would have gone out of turn to criticize his wishes, even in the name of safety. Then, again, because he had spoken out on behalf of his honor and on keeping his word.

Now, d'Artagnan had not been allowed to even defend himself, to say that he had panicked for fear of Constance's life and desperation to stall Marmion.

Instead, the King had let Rochefort take the glory in the same fickle breath that he had condemned d'Artagnan and turned his back on Milady. Though there was no love lost between them, he knew she'd had the nerve to risk her life and get help.

As they walked up to the doorway, the sliver of bright light almost blinded him. When his vision cleared, he saw a smooth, modern doorway and perhaps it made him a coward, but he was relieved to walk into the lobby of the Nexus. In its quiet, clean tranquility, d'Artagnan was ever more aware of the blood and dirt on his face.

Comments

[praiseandglory]

Porthos was just crossing the lobby and paused halfway in bringing his sandwich to his mouth (slapping good food between slices of bread was genius, if you asked him), slowing his steps as he took in d'Artagnan's battered look. "Where'd you just come from?"

He could've always used a fight of his own, after all.

[temperamentalsteel]

"Home," d'Artagnan said, still dazed by all that had transpire. He advery nearly lost Constance, to say nothing of the unendurable agony of waiting, knowing lives hung in the balance.

[praiseandglory]

Porthos reassessed the question he should've asked, and tried again, watching d'Artagnan more closely now. Whatever had happened had an actual bearing on their world. "When'd you just come from, then?"

[temperamentalsteel]

There was a time when d'Artagnan would have thought Porthos was drunk for asking something like that. Now he nodded tiredly, "Had you encountered Marmion yet?"

[praiseandglory]

"Yes," Porthos confirms, a shadow passing over his face, and he reaches with his free hand to clasp d'Artagnan's shoulder - gently, by his standards. "Is it all over?"

[temperamentalsteel]

"It is now. Milady de Winter came with reinforcements. Rochefort took the credit." And the King blamed them all, but d'Artagnan especially.

[praiseandglory]

"At least it served to draw Milady away from the King?" Porthos stated. It was hardly the first time their part in something hadn't been acknowledged; in fact, it was happening with increasing regularity now that Rochefort had the King's ear.

They should've let him die in Spain.

[temperamentalsteel]

"I almost wonder if we were better off we a devil we knew," d'Artagnan said. Milady was dangerous, truly, but at least her dangers could now be predicted without the Cardinal present. Rochefort...there was no knowing his game.

[praiseandglory]

"I don't miss the Cardinal," Porthos retorted, since that was who his mind had jumped to immediately. He was about to take another bite of his sandwich, but then he realised d'Artagnan probably needed it a lot more, and wordlessly offered it over.

[temperamentalsteel]

He thanked Porthos with a nod and took the sandwich so that he could tear off a large bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he wasn't even sure he could agree. Lie Milady, the Cardinal's objectives were usually plain. He wanted France to be powerful and Louis to eat out of his hand. Rochefot was less clear.

"I don't think even the Cardinal would have put up with Rochefort, at least."

[praiseandglory]

"Or more likely, Rochefort would never have done all of this from the shadow of the Cardinal," Porthos replied. He had been the Cardinal's man, after all. It was only his passing that had left a gap to be filled at the King's side. "Come on, let's go and find you more to eat." And himself, while he was at it. The Bistro was just down the hall.

[temperamentalsteel]

"And drink," d'Artagnan said, because if ever there was a time he'd earned a large glass of something powerful, he thought it was today.

[praiseandglory]

Right. The Smoking Room it was, then. Porthos corrected their course, and glanced at d'Artagnan by his side. He clearly didn't look as if he'd made it back to the garrison for a wash and a change of clothes. "Did you have time to see Constance? Before you came here."

[averygoodshot]

"d'Artagnan?!" Aramis, who'd been distracted in his own right, knows that look. He knows exactly where his friend comes from and walks over, a hand on his shoulder. "We should get you cleaned up."

[temperamentalsteel]

"Marmion," he said as his only explanation. It made sense now, Aramis' arrival, the story about the wndow.

[averygoodshot]

"He's gone." And even if Rochefort took credit for that, they know the truth of that event. He knows too that Rochefort will continue to haunt them, but Constance is safe.

"No stitches needed." Just some cleaning.

[temperamentalsteel]

D'Artagnan nodded, heaving a long sigh. He could no speak of how betrayed he felt by the King's callousness, not even in the hotel. To do so would be treason.

"From what I saw, you took the worst of it."

[averygoodshot]

Alone in one of their rooms perhaps they could, and yet they were both too loyal for such talk and Aramis knows it.

"Better a window than my neck," he repeats, hand in the small of d'Artagnan's back. "We can get some wine in you as well."

[temperamentalsteel]

Too loyal and too afraid of reprisal. After the King's displays of late, d'Artagnan found doubt in his heart that Louis was the fair-minded king he should have been.

"The wine will be most helpful."

[averygoodshot]

Louis is weak, easily misled and vain. For his love of the Queen does Aramis do what he does.

"Do you have some in your rooms? If not I can leave you there and fetch some."

[temperamentalsteel]

And to have spoken any of those words aloud was high treason.

"I have not been there for some days. A fresh bottle is likely the best course," he admitted, feeling worn.

[averygoodshot]

"Then I shall get it. Go clean up and I will return," Aramis tells him, turning to move quickly to fetch the wine.

He can bring it, then, to d'Artagnan's door, letting his friend know who it is as he knocks.

[temperamentalsteel]

He nodded, returning to his appointments and more grateful than ever for the immediate supply of water. Washing away the blood and dirt eased the feeling of disappointment. The King had made him a Musketeer on account of his true loyalty and now he trampled on any gesture made for his own sake.

[averygoodshot]

That makes him no less of a Musketeer. Aramis comes in, closing the door behind himself and he busies himself pouring the wine.

[temperamentalsteel]

Shortly after, d'Artagnan came out of the shower, dressed only in the convenient small clothes that the hotel shop had described as boxers. Other than that, he had only a towel on his shoulders.

"Perfect timing."