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(1) Hail
"Ow. Ow! Ow, fucking hell, that's - ow!"
Porthos grinned, watching Aramis almost dancing about as the hail came down on them. It seemed a fittingly awful end to a fittingly awful day; they were covered in mud, on foot, exhausted and bloody, and now the heavens had opened, not to send them a cleansing and refreshing rain shower, but to fire at them a volley of stinging, icy buckshot.
Aramis had lost his hat somewhere in the middle of the second skirmish, which meant he'd been in a bad enough mood to begin with. It also meant he was getting the worst of the hailstorm, flinching with every bitter ball of ice that bounced off his unprotected head.
"You wouldn't think an hour ago he was facing enemy fire with a stern and silent composure, would you?" Athos observed from under the relative safety of his own hat's wide brim.
"If they'd only known that his weakness was inclement weather," Porthos agreed with a smirk. "They could have threatened him with snowballs instead of musketballs."
"I'll threaten your balls in a minute," Aramis glowered, pushing strands of wet hair out of his eyes. "It's alright for you. You're not having a million points of steel being drummed into your scalp every second."
Porthos tutted, still smirking, then swept his own hat off and dropped it onto Aramis' head. "Better?"
Aramis blinked at him in surprise, resettling it more securely as it was a little too large. "Are you sure?"
"If it shuts you up," Porthos agreed, then slung an arm round him and chuckled. Aramis leaned into him gratefully and Athos snorted.
"You're a better man than me," he told Porthos. "Or you've got a harder head, I'm not sure which."
Porthos grinned at him. "Think of it as insurance. Because once we finally get home and to bed, Aramis is inevitably going to stick his freezing cold feet on one of us. And who do you think that's going to be now?"
Athos groaned.
--
(2) Sun
Paris was in the grip of a heatwave, and now the novelty had worn off everyone was heartily sick of it. Eyes were gritty with dust, flies were everywhere, plants and even trees were wilting in the gardens. Those who could afford to, remained indoors behind cool shutters. Those who were on duty, had to stick it out in the full glare of the furnace-like heat.
"Why did it have to be us?" Porthos muttered between clenched teeth, swaying slightly.
"Are you sure you want me to answer that?" Athos said acidly, without looking round at him. It was too hot for any unnecessary movements, even ones as small as a simple turn of the head.
Porthos made a harrumphing noise but didn't push it. He knew perfectly well why they were on this scalding and utterly pointless guard duty, and it was because he'd been caught cheating someone at cards. Which in the normal scheme of things wouldn't have caused many ripples, except in this case the man had turned out to be Treville's visiting nephew.
To say he'd been quite cross would have been an understatement. Porthos, to his credit, had tried to argue that Aramis and Athos shouldn't have to share his punishment, to which Treville had replied they should have bloody well kept a closer eye on him and sent them off on guard duty. Outside. In the sun.
Neither Athos nor Aramis had particularly held it against him, other than to indulge in a considerable amount of harmless glaring and barbed comments, but Porthos felt guilty nonetheless. Not to mention rather sick, right now. The intense heat didn't agree with him, and the heavy leather uniform was starting to feel like a sweltering prison.
Sweat was running freely down his back, feeling unpleasantly like the tickle of insects. Despite the shade of his hat, his eyes were watering from the glare, and his feet and back ached from the length of time he'd been standing here motionless.
"How much longer?" Aramis murmured.
"Thought you'd fallen asleep," said Athos. Aramis had been silent for a long time.
"Just imagining myself somewhere else," Aramis said rather dreamily. "A nice cool swimming hole, deep green water, plenty of shade. Cold wine, fresh fruit. No damned leather. No clothes at all, in fact."
Athos smiled slightly at the image. "We should be relieved any minute," he told Aramis in answer to his question.
"Relief being the operative word," Aramis agreed, stretching uncomfortably. "And not before time. Eh Porthos?"
When there was no answer, both Athos and Aramis looked round to find Porthos was leaning against the wall of the building with his head bowed, hands braced on his thighs. They exchanged a look and immediately went to him.
"Porthos?" Aramis put a hand on his shoulder, worried to feel him noticeably shaking.
"I'm fine," Porthos muttered. "It's just the heat."
Athos looked impatiently down the road in hope of spotting their replacements and scowled at the obstinately empty street. Made up his mind.
"Take him home," he ordered Aramis.
Porthos looked up then, clearly alarmed. "Treville - "
"Would not want to see you made ill, and I'm damned if I will. I'll answer for my decision," Athos interrupted him, "and I'll stay here until I'm relieved. You know as well as I do there's no actual threat to this building, I shall be entirely safe, and thus entirely capable of defending it alone. Aramis, get him out of here."
Afterwards, Porthos remembered little of the journey back to his lodgings, only the memory of Aramis' arm around his waist, firm and unwavering in the blur of heat and dizziness.
Once inside he practically collapsed to the bed, clutching at the covers as the room appeared to spin. Aramis helped him remove his clothing and lie back on the blessedly cool linen, before fetching some water.
They'd been lucky, unlike many in the city, the well here was still fresh and sweet, and Aramis helped Porthos drink his fill before wringing out a cloth and tenderly cleaning the dust and sweat from his face.
"You know, Athos would probably recommend you just use the whole bucket," Aramis murmured teasingly, dabbing at stray drops that were trickling down Porthos' neck.
Porthos managed a weak laugh, and Aramis smiled down at him, relieved he didn't seem to have taken as bad a turn as he'd initially feared. He was fervently grateful to Athos for making the decision when he had.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened and Athos walked in looking tired and drained.
"They were late?" Aramis asked indignantly. It had been a good three quarters of an hour since Athos had first said relief should be on its way. "Or - " he frowned. "Did you have to see Treville?"
Athos shook his head. "No. They were just late." He dropped his outer garments and swordbelt onto the floor and scooped water from the bucket in his cupped hands, splashing it liberally into his face with a sigh of relief. "We came to an arrangement. I won't mention their tardiness, they won't mention I was missing two comrades." He nodded at Porthos. "How is he?"
"I'm fine," Porthos retorted. He was stark naked, lying sprawled flat on his back with a damp handkerchief over his face. Athos caught Aramis' eye and smiled.
"It lives! I thought you'd been laid out. Although the chaplain might get rather a shock at the sight of you," Athos sat down on the edge of the bed and tweaked Porthos' exposed cock, making him squawk in indignant alarm.
Porthos sat up, pulling the handkerchief away, then swayed with sudden dizziness. Athos immediately looked contrite and guided him back down to the pillows.
"Rest." He sighed. "We should probably leave you alone. It'll be too hot if we all sleep here."
Porthos reached out and took his hand. "Stay?" he asked. "Both of you?"
Athos looked at Aramis, who nodded. "Very well." He leaned over and kissed Porthos on the cheek before bending to pull off his boots.
Aramis settled to the bed on Porthos' other side. "We were, after all, reprimanded for not keeping an eye on you," he remarked. "Well, surely even Treville would find it hard to argue we could be seeing any more of you than this." He gestured at Porthos' naked body, making him laugh.
"Don't think that was quite what he had in mind." Porthos sighed, suddenly serious. "Sorry. This whole fuck up was my fault."
"Good thing we don't hold grudges then, isn't it?" said Athos mildly, climbing back onto the bed in just his shirt and kissing him again, this time on the mouth.
Porthos slowly smiled, and when Aramis kissed him as well, smiled all the wider.
Side by side, they slept soundly through the rest of the afternoon heat.
--
(3) Rain
Athos and Porthos were soaked. Not just damp, not just unpleasantly soggy around the cuffs and seams where even the best cloak would inevitably let in water, but properly, utterly, soaked to the skin. Their breeches were sopping, shirts sticking to their backs, boots squelching with every step. The weight of the waterlogged clothing made it feel like they were wearing full suits of armour and walking was a Herculean effort.
Too tired, cold and fed up for conversation, they trudged through the woods side by side, their only comfort the knowledge that at least the other shared their misery.
Rain cascaded off their hats in a steady stream, more often than not pouring down their necks as onto the ground. They'd stopped trying to fight it.
Eventually, after what felt like hours, a gleam of light became visible through the trees. With the daylight fading and night only a matter of minutes away it was a welcome sight, and they picked up their pace without having to confer.
Before long the light resolved into a lantern hanging outside a small stone cottage, chinks of light also gleaming from between the firmly shuttered windows.
"Is this the place?" Porthos wondered.
"I believe so." Athos gave him a grim smile. "Even if it isn’t, I vote we insist on a bed for the night."
Porthos laughed, and banged heavily on the door. "Aramis! Open up you bastard!"
The door swung open and they were both heartily relieved to find it was indeed Aramis looking out at them.
"Now what have I done?" he complained, making a face as Porthos barged past him into the house, trailing water.
"You're dry," Porthos told him. "And warm. And probably well fed. And we're not. So you're a bastard."
"You could have been the decoy," Aramis pointed out, helping Athos shed his wringing wet cloak and letting Porthos struggle out of his on his own. "But oh no, you left the part with the high risk of being shot at, up to me."
"But you make a smaller target," Porthos grinned, and picked Aramis up in his arms and spun him round.
"Get off!" Aramis struggled free, making a face. "Ugh, now I'm all wet."
"Yep." Porthos gave him a smug grin and threw himself into a seat as close to the fire as he could get.
Watching all this with amusement, Athos had steadily removed all of his clothes, dropping them into a pile that was gradually forming its own puddle. Aramis held out a warm, dry blanket to him and he accepted it gratefully, wrapping it around himself and kissing Aramis firmly in thanks as he moved to take the other chair.
"Do you want one too, or are you too busy being grumpy?" Aramis asked, holding out a second blanket to Porthos, whose clothing was starting to steam from the fire.
Porthos grunted and heaved himself up again, adding his wet garments to Athos', and towelling himself off vigorously before wrapping the blanket round himself and huddling back by the fire.
"You've certainly made it cosy in here," Athos murmured, eyes half closed in the warmth and stretching his cold toes out towards the hearth.
"I heard the rain come. I knew you'd be soaked when you reached me," Aramis said. He hung their clothing over various bits of furniture to dry and settled between their chairs, on the floor. "There's stew, when you're ready. And the bed's not the softest, but it'll take the three of us, and I think we'll do well enough."
Porthos reached down and stroked a hand over Aramis' hair fondly. Aramis looked round at him in slight surprise, but smiled when he caught the soft look on Porthos' face. Aramis caught Porthos' hand between his own, and kissed his knuckles, holding his hand against his cheek.
Later, when they'd all finally dried out and eaten, they clambered into the bed together and listened to the rain lashing against the shutters. They fell asleep wrapped in each others' arms, warm from the inside out.
--
(4) Snow
"It's like a fairytale," Aramis said wonderingly.
Athos gave him a sideways look. "You mean full of dark creatures and curses and death?" he asked innocently, making Porthos laugh.
Aramis jabbed Athos painfully in the side with a bony elbow. "You know what I mean." He looked out over the view with an almost reverent expression. "It's magical. Beautiful. Like captured moonlight."
When Athos had declared his intent to go for a walk, Aramis had objected on the grounds it was the middle of the night, and Porthos had objected on the grounds it was bloody freezing. Athos had just quietly shrugged and said he was going anyway because he couldn't sleep.
Aramis and Porthos had looked at each other and followed him without another word, wary of leaving Athos alone with his thoughts when he was in a pensive mood. Athos hadn't objected to their company, and by the time they'd wandered out here to the ramparts just outside the city, the snow was falling thick and fast and already lying deep on the ground.
From their vantage point they looked back toward the city, its roofs and towers and gables all picked out in a covering of white that seemed to glow from within.
"I'm glad you made us come," Aramis murmured, despite the fact Athos had done nothing of the kind.
Athos glanced at him and smiled, and Aramis silently took his hand. Gloveless, Athos' fingers were cold and Aramis squeezed them affectionately.
Porthos put an arm round his shoulders, which Athos returned with one round his waist, and for a long while the three of them just stood there together and watched the big, soft flakes whispering down around them.
--