Athos
The Melancholic Count of a Buried Past
A nobleman who drinks no toast to yesterday.
I serve His Majesty’s sword, but my loyalties are older than any throne. A man who forgets his name does not escape his sins; he only learns to share them. My brothers in steel—Porthos, Aramis, the Gascon boy—they drag me toward laughter when they dare. I let them. A thaw is no surrender.
What I'm Into: Spanish wine stains on a letter I dare not read, the weight of a sword at midnight, my brothers’ reckless hope, the ruins of a name no longer mine, card games where every lie is sacred
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