[ He had thought he'd freed himself from hell's clutches but it seems he's simply moved from one to the other. For watching d'Artagnan constantly throwing himself into the line of danger must be a hell all of it's own. And yet his expression remains passive, his sigh a tight sound that forces its way from him. ]

Life would be much easier if you actually needed my permission. [ Not for the first time he misses Aramis with an agony that's aching, wishes Porthos were here to do something. Because he doesn't always know how to make d'Artagnan see where he's coming from. The other two have a way with words. And between them they'd be able to follow him everywhere. ]

I simply ask that you tell me when you're about to get yourself killed. [ Dryly. ] How else will I know to attend the funeral?