Authors note: This is set pre series. It only features Aramis, Porthos and Treville. It is an imagining of how Aramis and Porthos became friends. There is racism and classism.

Prologue

Porthos paused. He could tell the soldiers were not doing what they should have been. Falling back on his time in the Court, his court, not the Royal Court, Porthos melted into the background. The soldiers would not know he was there, even if they were to look directly at him. He was still and quiet. And he listened.

What he heard made his blood run cold. For several seconds he had to remind himself to be motionless. If he moved, he would give himself away and his friend would be in danger. If he waited until the men were gone, he knew he stood a chance of saving his friend. He hoped and prayed that the lessons were about to pay off.

MMMM

Chapter One

He knew that being a cadet was going to be tough. Being a cadet in a relatively new regiment was even tougher, they all had something to prove. And he was the only dark-skinned cadet who also had, what some would say, was a bad upbringing.

Porthos knew he was in for a hard time.

They would not all get their commission, he knew that. He hoped the men that did not get their commissions would be the ones that were with him at that moment. The ones that were tormenting him. He had nothing to be ashamed of, there were more people who could not read and write than there were ones that could. Literacy was something the upper classes enjoyed. The tradesmen, the nobles, the well to do. Not the infantryman. He had not needed to be able to read and write to fire a gun or wield a sword during a melee.

But now that he was training to be a Musketeer his lack of ability was showing. Treville had assured him that it would make no difference. The Captain wanted the best men for the job, and he had told Porthos that he was more intelligent than most of the young nobles that were trying to get into the elite regiment. The nobles might have known their words and could write poetry, but they could not change tactic mid-battle, they had not learned the art of anticipating the enemies moves. Porthos already had those skills, the useful ones.

Porthos wondered if Treville should tell the group of soldiers in front of him what he had told him in those first few days. He doubted it would make a difference.

'What if you receive written orders? Are you going to go to the enemy and ask them to read it for you?'

Deschamps, the leader of the group of cadets, was taking great delight in the jeers and encouragement he was getting from the other young men. The dark blond had his gun in one hand and a cloth in the other. They had been sat outside the armoury cleaning the weapons when the conversation had turned to education. It had not taken them long to get Porthos to admit to not being able to read and write. The jibes had quickly followed with Deschamps egging his little group on.

Porthos wondered what it was like to be popular. Descamps came from money; he had quickly established a gang of cadets around him. They would go out in the evening, drinking, they were all doing fairly well in their training and they were all of noble stock.

'Pickpockets don't need to be able to read though do they,' said Chevrolet, a shorter stockier man who packed a punch when they practised their brawling.

Porthos did not reply, he quietly continued with his work. He wanted the guns he was cleaning to be finished. Then he could walk away. He would not leave the job half done just to get away from the men and their teasing remarks.

'Poor orphaned Porthos,' said Deschamps, 'I bet Treville has only got him here so that he can dismiss him as a lesson that the poor don't belong.'

'Yeah,' joined in Fabron, 'not everyone will get a commission, Treville probably gets some men in just to fill the numbers up so that he can concentrate on the best.'

Porthos could not help himself, he had put up with the remarks for as long as he could, he slowly put the gun he was holding down. He took a breath. He tried to think of some witty comeback but could not. He could not really think of anything at that moment. All he really wanted to do was flatten the other cadets. He swung his legs over the bench and stood up.

'Off to read a book in the quiet?' asked Deschamps, 'oh no… you can't can you? 'Cos you're an imbecile. I bet even if your mother had lived, she wouldn't have been able to teach you anything, probably as thick as-.'

Deschamps did not get a chance to finish his sentence. Porthos did not care to hear any more of what the man had to say. As Deschamps crashed to the ground, his frilled shirt getting covered in dust and gun oil Porthos felt the first pang of satisfaction for a long time.

The victory was short-lived. Porthos had barely unclenched his fist when a yell from behind him told him he was probably never going to get his commission. The Captain had seen him hit Deschamps.

'You do not strike a fellow soldier,' said Treville as he marched towards them.

Porthos sighed, he turned to look at the angry man. Treville, who had been nothing but kind to him since his arrival looked livid. Porthos knew he had let his Captain down. Treville had probably taken some jibes of his own for letting the low born infantryman into the regiment. Porthos was not the only man from the lower classes, but he was the only one who had been brought up in the Court of Miracles. Porthos would forever be identified by his background. He could not escape it.

'There are stables that need mucking out,' said Treville, who was standing very close to him.

Despite having to look up slightly, Treville was very much the dominant man at that moment. Porthos knew better than to try to talk his way out of the punishment. The rest of the cadets would just deny that Deschamps had provoked him. He looked down for a few seconds before walking away, undoing his doublet as he went. He hung the jacket outside the stable and without looking back at the armoury and his tormentors he stepped inside.

MMMM

Treville looked up as Aramis hovered by the open door, he smiled and beckoned the young Musketeer in. He welcomed a distraction from the report he was writing, and Aramis had promised to update him on the cadet's progress with marksmanship.

'And how are they doing?' Treville asked with a nod to a chair on the other side of his desk.

Aramis glanced behind him before venturing further into the room, he did not take the indicated seat.

'Captain, I think you've punished the wrong man.'

Treville furrowed his brow trying to work out what Aramis meant.

'Just now, I didn't want to say anything in front of the cadets. But they provoked Porthos. They'd been teasing him for some time. I was just about to put a stop to it… when. When Porthos put a stop to it himself.'

Treville sighed, 'why didn't he say anything then?'

'Because he's used to it?' suggested Aramis, 'I know you handpicked him from the infantry, and you've rightly been showing him no favours since then. He doesn't know any different. Captain, he put up with the teasing… bullying… for a long time before he reacted... Longer than I would have.'

The Musketeer Captain looked down at his report for a few seconds as he considered what Aramis had said.

'I'll talk to the cadets,' he said. 'I just hope I don't make it worse for him.'

'Thank you, Captain,' said Aramis.

'But I think Porthos should finish in the stables. He did strike a fellow cadet. He could have just walked away.'

Aramis nodded, although Treville could tell the soldier did not approve. He wondered what had been said that finally pushed the quiet cadet over the edge. It was obviously something that had equally annoyed Aramis.

'Now that that is settled, let's have your report on their shooting.'

MMMM

Aramis finished his inventory. All the guns were back where they should be and the swords were in place and mostly correctly stored. The cadets had done well with their weapons maintenance. At least the ones that had been allowed to complete their session of cleaning and polishing. Aramis hid a smile as he remembered Treville sending Deschamps and his cronies to scrub the floors in the infirmary and the mess. The men had complained and grumbled but been told in no uncertain terms that if they were caught bullying any other cadet, not just Porthos, they would be thrown out with no letter of recommendation for any other garrison in Paris.

After a final glance around the now tidy armoury, Aramis closed the door and walked across the yard. The cadets were emerging from the infirmary after completing their punishment. Deschamps was rolling the kinks from his shoulders, Fabron rubbed at the small of his back. They were moaning about the injustice, grumbling that they should not have been punished for what Porthos had done. Aramis wanted to tell the younger men exactly what he thought of them, but he decided against the move. He did not want to make it worse for Porthos. The last thing the cadet needed was for a commissioned man to be seen to defend him, it could be misconstrued as favouritism.

No, Aramis decided to let the matter drop. He walked past the cadets and out of the garrison yard, intending to get a quiet meal with the Captain in the tavern by the river before retiring to bed. Supervising cadets was tiring work, he had decided quite early on that he preferred standing guard duty to taking his turn with the slightly younger men's training.

Treville had invited a few of the commissioned men to the tavern to thank them for their work. The meals with the Captain were never raucous, the Musketeers generally swapped war stories over their food and listened to Treville talk about how much conditions had changed for the better since he was a mere soldier. The evenings were relaxed, something Aramis was looking forward to.

The quieter streets leading to the river gave Aramis a chance to hear the threat before he saw it. The approaching, hurried footsteps made him turn to look behind him. As a soldier, he was always on his guard, but he was not expecting to be confronted by a group of angry-looking cadets.

Deschamps, one hand on his hip, the other resting threateningly over his gun looked at Aramis with a piercing stare.

'What do you want?' asked Aramis, who could not work out why the men were trying to surround him.

He took a couple of steps back, slightly annoyed with himself for feeling intimidated by a group of men who were his juniors in the garrison. But Aramis had to remind himself, there were five of them and a couple of them were taller and broader than he was.

'You told Treville what happened,' said Deschamps.

The pieces fell into place for Aramis. He realised the cadets had watched him walk into Treville's office after the incident with Porthos. They had worked out that he had overheard the whole conversation from the armoury where he had been fixing a couple of muskets as the cadets worked on their weapons.

'Yes, I told Treville,' said Aramis. 'I'll ask you again. What do you want?'

It was Chevrolet who stepped forward, Aramis had taken an instant dislike to the short man, almost as soon as he had turned up to start his training. He was frequently telling the cadets about his trips to visit the whores and how rough he was with them. He thought he was better than everyone else.

The short man stopped in front of Aramis, looking up at him a sneer playing on his lips.

'We want you to keep out of the way-'

'You're all cadets,' said Aramis with a shake of his head, 'I'm training you.'

'You're only a couple of years older than us,' said Deschamps.

'You're the same age as me,' remarked Chevrolet with another sneer.

'That does not make a difference,' said Aramis, who was starting to wonder how he was going to calm the worked-up men down.

'But the most important thing we know,' said Fabron, 'is that you're the same as him. You're a nothing as well.'

Aramis looked between the men without comprehending what they meant. If they were implying that he could not read and write, they were wrong.

'We know that you were born in a brothel,' said one of the other men who was standing beside Deschamps. 'We know your whore of a mother must have told one of her clients that you were his son so that he took you away before you had to start selling yourself.'

Aramis stared at the man, he wondered how they had found out about his own upbringing. It certainly was not something he talked about. He was not ashamed, but he knew it would not be looked on favourably by the Palace to have him there, mixing with the Royal family.

'My father traded with the D'Herblay's,' continued the cadet with a grin. 'We know all about you…'

Aramis took a step forward, he instantly regretted allowing himself to become distracted. Fabron, who was still standing in front of him, punched him hard in the stomach. Aramis could not help doubling over, giving the cadet the perfect chance to knee him in the face. The shock of the assault left Aramis reeling. A tiny thought in his mind told him he should not have let it happen. He should have been ready for it, but the cadets had planned ahead, they had known exactly when to drop in their trump card. As he was pushed to the ground, he had to admit they had come up with a good plan. Fabron wasted no time, he kicked Aramis twice. Catching his arms and chest, knocking the air out of him. Unable to defend himself Aramis screwed his eyes shut, wondering how far the cadets would go.

MMMM

Authors note: You already know this but… Porthos implies in The Homecoming that he could not read or write whilst living in the Court of Miracle. Aramis reveals to d'Artagnan that he lived in a brothel as a child in The Queen's Diamond.