I only wish I owned rights to Dumas' and BBC's The Musketeers. I don't though so damn my lack of luck.

Ages in this chapter:

Athos: 19

d'Artagnan: 2

At nineteen, Athos knew his lot in life. He had had the luck of being born to a well-off family, had the love and trust of the people he would preside over, and had no difficulties with his studies. He had a brother, whom he loved deeply, and his family had their health. There was little question as to what he would become when he came of age. He knew his lot, how lucky he was to have it, and he reveled in it.

By reveling, he meant going to places no one knew his name and acting as if he too were of the commonwealth. His brother laughed at him while his father feared robbery or attack. Athos found the activity to be a grounding experience. He had once thought the commonwealth to be pitied until he had been left in a situation requiring anonymity. He'd met an old farmer who had been kind enough to guide him to the correct road and even to lend a bit of money. Until he had returned home, he'd pretended to be a person of no consequence. It kept him safe as well as availed him to unexpected revelations on a variety of subjects; himself mainly.

Besides, Gascony was supposed to be beautiful in spring, with the farms producing and the people giddy in the sunlight as gossip passed their lips by. He had to repay that farmer for his kindness as well. He couldn't let another year pass without giving the man back some reward. He smiled at the memory of the old man raving about his wife who, at the time, had been pregnant. Athos had already promised himself to over exaggerate how much help the child's father had been to both the wife and child.

As he and his horse climbed over the final crest of hill that overlooked the wide open land of Gascony, Athos wondered what sort of woman the farmer's wife was as well as what sort of child they had brought to the world. He hoped both would be, at least, as considerate of others as the farmer.

The man had struck Athos as rather wise in his own way. The way others had greeted him as he'd guided Athos had shown he was well respected as well as, possibly, influential to those around him. The respect had been earned as well, from what Athos had seen. After the display, he had set about making himself to be more like the farmer which had led to the trust he currently held.

A refreshing feeling.

As expected, the village Lupiac in Gascony was a true vision of a peaceful countryside village. Rolling farmland was dotted sparsely by quaint homes with people meandering about the roads, baskets in hand. Athos pressed his heels to his horse, urging it to a trot down the winding road in to town. He knew where he was headed but it wouldn't hurt to have a quick bite of food from a shop in the tiny marketplace that clamored with the sounds of bargaining, dogs, and poultry that had wandered free of a pen.

He handed his horse to a smithy, giving the man a bit more coin than strictly necessary, and weaved his way through the gossiping crowds. The fruit he picked from a pallet was sweet and succulent on his tongue as he wandered about, eyeing the goods on display and the people around him. Everyone wore sturdy cloths and leathers but there were a few men carrying knives swords on their belts.

The blades looked uncared for as well; a mark of an unprotected township that held no fear in its heart. There was hardly anything here that would be seen as valuable enough to warrant the attentions of bandits. The people therefore had no need for armaments even if they did own them. Athos almost found himself wishing he'd been born to Lupiac of Gascony as he strolled through the market.

He was making his way back to the smithy to collect his horse so as to travel to his destination when a cart rumbled up. The black horses pulling the cart were field animals with massive chests and towering backs and heads. They were well trained for carting and Athos doubted they were incapable plow animals if they were owned by someone in Gascony. The creatures huffed and snorted as their driver reigned them to a halt, his familiar face worn from a life of work and modest living. Athos couldn't help but smile as the man spotted him from the cart seat.

"My god Boy!" the man cried out with a hearty laugh that bubbled from his belly. "Lost again?"

A few bystanders glanced their way for a moment before whispering at each other as they continued about their days. Athos tried to ignore the slight flush that heated his cheeks as a few women winked at him.

"Not this time, no," Athos grinned. "I'm visiting this time. I have yet to thank you properly for your help."

The old farmer snorted as he hopped from his seat, revealing a young boy with curious eyes shadowed by raven hair. Athos smiled at the boy, earning himself a shy wave in return.

"Truth be told," the old farmer grunted out as he fussed with the harnesses on the massive horses, "I'm surprised you remember me, Boy."

Athos shrugged, lips cocked towards his nose as if he were trying to kiss it. The comment had been expected. It was very likely that, if Athos had been anyone else, he would have forgotten old Alexandre d'Artagnan's kindness. However, he was himself and if he had any fault, it was that he forgot very little.

"I remember you were looking forward to a child," Athos stated with a cheeky grin. He eyed the boy who had stretched himself over the cart's seat, belly down and tiny feet kicking in the air. The child gave a weak squeak when their eyes connected, his hands covering his face as if that would make him disappear.

Old Alexandre smiled as Athos found himself chuckling. The child peered at the two of them from between his fingers.

"Aye," the old farmer chuckled as he wrestled the child into a sitting position and then into his arms. As soon as he was on his father's hip, the boy clutched his father's shirt with white knuckles and pressed his brow to the elder man's neck.

"Shy lad," Athos smiled with a soft gleam in his eyes that he only showed his brother.

"Scared of strangers still," the elder murmured, a hand patting the boy's back. "Introduce yourself, child."

The boy gave his father a nervous, darting eyes glance before facing Athos. The young man waited as the boy warred with his father in silence, until the child glanced back at him with a quizzical look.

"Hello," the child mumbled with a tentative wave of his hand. Athos gave the boy a grateful and reassuring smile. He was glad the boy had the courage to speak to him but knew the uncertainty that clung to the boy's restricted movements wouldn't be easy to rid him of.

"Hello," he replied with a small wave of his own, his fingers bending to his unmoving palm like they were on hinges. It was then he realized he'd not taken his signet ring off. If the old farmer noticed it, he remained silent.

"This is Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony," the new father beamed as he held the child close for a chaste kiss to a soft cheek.

"Well met," Athos grinned. He held out his hand for the little child. "I am Athos."