Welcome to my new story, Trapped! This story actually began as an entry to March's Fete challenge, Idle Hands. An interesting idea came to mind, as I was shortly into the story, that I wanted to explore so this was shelved until now. You might see some reference to the Idle Hands theme in a particular spot, but it quickly detours as the overall plot of the story was begging to be told. I hope you enjoy this story and the important theme that is still relevant in today's world.

The Lord's anointed, our very life breath, was caught in their traps. We thought that under His shadow we would live among the nations.

Lamentations 4:20 NIV

Chaper One: Bear Trap

"There has been rather worrisome unrest occurring in the southern regions of France." Captain Tréville held his arms behind his back as he paced. "The movement has spread recently, reaching as far north as Créteil."

The captain walked around his desk where a large map of France was laid out on a table for his men to review. He stopped to tap on the commune of Créteil, holding his finger in place as he continued his discussion.

"The king is aware that progressive bands of Huguenots are responsible for the unrest," Tréville paused at the audible gasp. "Cardinal Richelieu wants to hold a meeting with his cardinals and bishops of surrounding districts to decide upon future action against the Huguenots."

"Captain, if I may," Athos interjected, "how do the Musketeers fit into this situation? Should this be a discussion for the Red Guards rather than the Musketeers?"

"If you would allow me to finish, Athos," the captain raised his eyebrows.

"Of course, Captain." Athos dipped his head in acquiescence.

"As I was saying," Captain Tréville continued, "the cardinal wants to conduct a meeting at the Château de Vincennes. How the Musketeers fit in, Athos, is that His Majesty wishes to attend the meeting, since the outcome does affect France and her standing with the church."

"Are we to provide security for His Majesty?" Athos inquired.

"Yes, we will provide security for the king when he attends as scheduled," the captain replied. "However, this particular assignment is just a cursory glance—a reconnaissance mission if you will—to study the road between the palace and the Château de Vincennes."

"Determining exactly what?" Aramis chimed in as he studied the map.

"How safe the road is," the captain stated matter-of-factly. "His Majesty wants a report on who is traveling this road—particularly if there are any Huguenot travelers. We are to monitor the road for any suspicious activity while keeping our eyes open for Huguenots traveling between Paris and Vincennes."

"Captain, how are we supposed to determine who the Huguenots are just by sight?" d'Artagnan asked as he glanced in confusion at his three companions.

"They should be easy to spot by their clothing," Tréville explained. "The Huguenots prefer to dress in a conservative style—almost as peasants—but many wear the Huguenot Cross around their necks, distinguishing themselves as part of the Huguenot Society."

"So, we're watchin' travelers on the road, lookin for Huguenots," Porthos clarified. "For how long?"

"We will be watching the road in shifts over the course of several days," Captain Tréville answered. "Each shift will be for an entire day—from sunrise to sunset."

Audible groans echoed around the table at the dreadful assignment.

"You are serious about this assignment, Captain?" Aramis asked, standing with one hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose. "We will spend an entire day of sitting beside a road watching travelers go by. Captain, is this what Musketeers do?"

"Yes, we do exactly as the king demands," Captain Tréville replied curtly. "He wishes to be aware of the potential dangers before he and the cardinal make plans to travel. The Musketeers are at the king's bidding."

"And if there is no Huguenot activity on this road?" Athos questioned.

"It should tell us that the Huguenots have not yet reached Paris and its outlying regions." Captain Tréville tapped his finger on the map, tracing from the Louvre Palace to the Château de Vincennes. "Nevertheless, the Musketeers will provide security along the entire route to Vincennes when the king travels."

"If we are to provide security for His Majesty, at least the distance is short." Athos pointed to the two points on the map. "Vincennes is less than three leagues from Paris."

"Yes and remember, gentlemen, this assignment is for preliminary reconnaissance," he sighed as he drummed his fingers on the map. "Understand that you each have an important job to do, though it may be rather tedious."

"Boring, I would say… in less polite wording," Aramis muttered with a frown.

"If you can get past the monotony of watching travelers, it should be an easy assignment." Captain Tréville glared at the medic. "However, you are to stay alert at all times; never leave your post for any reason. You are to be observant of who is traveling on the road, especially be aware of Huguenot presence."

"When do we go, sir?" Athos asked.

"You leave tomorrow, at dawn."

"Well, nothing like short notice." Aramis rubbed a hand through his hair.

"I expect you to be ready to ride out at sunup." Captain Tréville returned to sit behind his desk. "You men are dismissed."

Next Morning:

"Aw, don't tell me it's starting to rain!" d'Artagnan groaned as he pulled his doublet collar up higher. "This is going to be a dreadfully long day."

"I can think of a hundred other things I'd rather do today than watch a road," Aramis complained, shoving his hat further down on his head. "Especially in the rain."

"You do realize that the more you complain the longer the day will seem." Athos grinned at his friend. "This is an easy assignment; think of it as a relaxing day in the woods."

"Well, the pup and I should keep busy for several hours," Porthos admitted proudly. "I finally have the time to give him a proper education."

"A proper education in what?" Aramis asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Card games, mon cher," Porthos smiled as he tapped his jacket pocket. "Packed 'em so we wouldn't get bored sittin' in the trees all day."

"Just make sure you keep your eyes on the road while you're busy playing games," Athos ordered. "We're on this assignment because the king's safety depends on it."

"I learned somethin' growin' up in the Court; I learned to be aware of my surroundings." Porthos' eyes scanned the forest as they rode toward their assigned destination. "I always watch who's around me and what they're doing so I won't be caught off guard. In the Court, you learn to grow eyes in the back of your head."

"That is why you can't ever sneak up on the man," Aramis whispered to d'Artagnan.

"Better lose the hat then," d'Artagnan announced with amusement. "The eyes in the back of your head can't see a thing with that big, floppy hat in the way."

"Alright, we're at the first lookout." Athos reined his horse to a stop. "The rest of you proceed on to your respective checkpoints," he ordered the remaining Musketeers. "Space yourselves out about a league apart. You are to remain at your checkpoint until nearly dusk—leave yourself enough time to return to this checkpoint before dark. We will wait here until everybody has reported in before riding back to the garrison together."

"I will see you back here tonight." Aramis smiled as he raised his hat in farewell to the departing four men. "If we haven't died from boredom by then," he sighed.

"Au revoir," d'Artagnan made a clicking sound with his tongue as he gently kicked his horse forward. The Gascon rode beside Porthos, heading toward their assigned checkpoint on the road to Vincennes; following behind them were the Musketeers, Benoit and Marceau.

Athos and Aramis stood watching the four men ride away until they rounded a bend and disappeared from sight. "This is going to be a long day," they echoed together.

The two men led their horses into the trees then settled at a place where they could observe oncoming travelers without being noticed. "This is a good spot to watch the road." Athos sat on the ground then leaned against the large tree. "Find a tree, Aramis; might as well make yourself comfortable."

"Lord above, help me to make it through the monotony of this day," Aramis muttered as he crossed himself. The medic stared down the long empty stretch of road and sighed heavily. God, help me to stay awake.

Later:

"I'm bored," Aramis complained as he whittled on a small branch with his main gauche. The medic carved away the bark, stroke after stroke until smooth. He watched as the shaves of wood curled then dropped to the forest floor into a growing pile at his feet.

"You should have brought a book." Athos smiled as he watched his friend over the pages of his book. Hmm, Aramis; boredom; sharp weapon… probably not a wise combination.

"Why didn't you remind me to bring a book?" Aramis threw aside the thin stick to start on a new branch. "Porthos brought a deck of cards and you brought a book. Why didn't you tell me I could bring something?"

"I didn't tell Porthos to bring anything." Athos looked up from his book with a sly smirk. "He was smart and planned ahead."

"I should have gone with Porthos," Aramis muttered under his breath. "At least I wouldn't be talking to myself while you quietly read your book." The medic snapped apart his branch as Athos grinned to himself behind the book. "What is that book you're reading anyway?"

"It is called, La vie très horrifique du grand Gargantua, père de Pantagruel by François Rabelais." Athos cleared his throat as he lowered the book. "It is a rather crude, if not obscene, tale of two giants—a father and son—fighting and defeating an invading army of giants; they then drown the survivors in urine."

"Athos, you're not seriously reading…" the medic's jaw hung agape. "An army of giants… who drown their enemy in urine?" Aramis laughed. "You would read such a story? Athos, you surprise me. In fact, I'm more than a little surprised at you."

"Really, Aramis," Athos replied dryly. "François Rabelais is an excellent author of French literature; his book is quite popular, despite the risqué humor. Regardless, I needed something amusing to keep me awake today."

"I'm bored," Aramis sighed.

"Aramis!" Athos growled as he slammed the book shut. "If you complain about being bored one more time," he threatened. "You must have said that you were bored fifty times already."

"You're exaggerating…"

"Am I?" Athos took a deep breath to compose himself. "If you are so bored, rather than whittling aimlessly on twigs, might I suggest you go find a larger branch and carve a cross… or a bird… or something."

"Hmm, that's not a bad idea." Aramis grinned, tossing the small twig aside. The medic stretched his arms out wide, yawning as he stood nearly on his tip toes. Finally limber, he set out in search of the perfect piece of wood. "There must be a good-sized branch around here in among all these trees."

Porthos and d'Artagnan, Second Checkpoint:

"I'm running out of rocks," d'Artagnan complained, frowning at the cards in his hands. "I should have known better than to bet against you. Look at this," he spread his cards out on the dirt and shook his head in disgust.

"You are looed, my young brother." Porthos laughed as he pulled the pile of rocks—acting as replacement for gambling chips—toward him. "Are you up for another round?"

"Naw, I'm not very good at lenturlu, it appears. Good thing we're not playing for real money," d'Artagnan sighed. "I would owe you my paycheck for the next year."

"Rubbish, you're better than you think," Porthos winked. "But your facial expressions give yourself away, pup. This is a trick-taking game; the strategy is foolin' your opponents. You must learn to keep your face neutral, no matter what you have in your hand."

"Easier said than done," d'Artagnan rubbed a hand over his face. "You've been playing these games years longer than me."

"It takes practice, but you'll get there." Porthos nodded as he shuffled the cards. "Just try to remember, keep your face neutral—don't show any emotion. Give nothin' away… and don't let your eyes give yourself away. Keep your face blank. Show 'em nothing."

"I wonder how Athos and Aramis are doing?" d'Artagnan stared down the road. "There hasn't been any suspicious activity all day. If you didn't bring these cards," he paused, "I would be bored stiff."

"If I know 'Mis, he's probably pesterin' Athos to no end," Porthos chuckled at the thought. "I wish I had a livre for every time he tells Athos he's bored."

"You should have told Athos to keep track."

"Oi, if I know Athos, he probably tuned out 'Mis a long time ago; he probably has his nose in that book, passin' time."

"I didn't see him bring a book," the young Gascon remarked with surprise.

"And you're surprised?" Porthos ghosted a grin. "Athos is clever at hiding things he doesn't want discovered."

"But, how did you know…?"

"Another trick that'll help ya," Porthos said as he pushed the rocks to the side. "Learn to watch people— their mannerisms and expressions—you watch their eyes. Learn to read people by watchin' them and you'll figure it out quick."

"You know Athos brought a book just by watching him?"

"Watching him," Porthos laughed as he picked up the deck of cards, "and knowing him for years. I have another lesson of trick-playin' for you," he shuffled the deck. "I'm going to teach you the game of Réversi. Remember what I said 'bout your facial expressions—it's very important in this game."

"Go easy on me… please."

"Going easy on ya is not how you learn, pup." Porthos winked as he dealt out the cards.

"Oi…"

"Hmm, I'm sure there's a decent sized branch around here somewhere." Aramis talked to himself as wandered away, scanning the forest floor.

"Don't wander too far away," Athos called over his shoulder as the medic disappeared behind a row of trees. "I don't want to have to come looking for you!"

"Yes, mother," came the sarcastic reply in the distance.

"I completely understand why the captain is losing his hair." Athos huffed to himself with amusement. "I hope Porthos and d'Artagnan are faring well…"

A sudden scream of pain broke Athos from his reverie, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle. He threw his book down then jumped to his feet and followed the harrowing screams into the trees. His hand readied on the hilt of his sword, prepared to terminate the unknown cause of harm to his friend.

As Athos came around the large tree he stopped short, unexpectedly frozen at the sight of Aramis screaming and writhing on the forest floor. His hands were bloodied as he clutched at his right foot, trying desperately to free it.

"Mon Dieu," Athos' blood ran cold as he dropped to his knees beside the medic. "Let me see," he said. The lieutenant tried to pull the medic's hands away but they wouldn't budge.

Athos brushed away the pile of dried leaves to reveal a chain attached to a trigger plate, prompting the iron jaws of a bear trap to seize the booted ankle of Aramis. The teeth of the wicked device were buried deep in the medic's flesh, right through the leather boot. The cruel device had chomped down hard, as if it had attempted to take the Musketeer's foot.

"Damn," Aramis cursed through clenched teeth. He collapsed back on his side as pain slammed into his very core, shooting up his leg as though his foot was being ripped from his body. "God, get it… off, Athos," he gasped. White spots danced in his vision as flames of agony burned at his ankle and coursed through his body, enveloping him in sheer torment. His chest heaved with rapid breaths fueled by the anguish and the screams for help.

"Hold still!" Athos gripped the iron bands biting into Aramis' leg and pulled until his hands shook; his arm muscles strained against the unyielding instrument of torture. "I can't loosen it, dammit!" He grasped at the jaws once again, using every ounce of strength he had until the iron bands cut into his fingers. His own blood mixed with the blood of his brother, still the device would not yield.

"God, please…"

"Dammit to hell!" Athos swiped angrily at the sweat beading on his forehead, leaving a streak of blood across his face. "I can't… 'Mis… I can't get it off… it's too tight. I'm not strong enough to do this alone. Your foot is caught in a bear trap," he shook his head as he studied the device. "It looks new—fine craftsmanship—but these jaws won't budge."

"Merde!" Aramis balled his fist on a handful of dirt and squeezed. He turned onto his belly then gulped a lungful of air, holding it as he pulled himself forward. The air burst from his lungs as the trap viciously yanked on his leg, stopping his attempt to escape.

"Dammit, Aramis, you must stop moving!" Athos ordered as he tried once again to pry the jaws apart but to no avail. "You're trapped—you can't simply crawl out of this. Listen to me, Aramis, I can't pull these jaws apart on my own," he hung his head sadly. "I must go for help."

"No… no, don't… don't go… don't leave me here." Aramis cried as he flailed side to side, his body being tormented by the iron teeth. Tremors of pain burst through his body with every beat of his heart as sweat beaded on his brow. He shivered, finally realizing he couldn't escape the teeth holding him hostage.

"Aramis, you have to lie still; you will only hurt yourself worse if you keep moving." Athos cradled Aramis' head in his lap as he tenderly brushed away the sweat-soaked hair from his face. "Just lie still," he whispered softly. His gentle ministrations continued, running his thumbs across the flushed cheeks as he whispered soothing words to calm the medic.

Aramis relaxed in his brother's arms, concentrating on the soothing words whispered in his ear. The tension and fear slowly dissipated as Athos held onto him, gently massaging his temples or running his hand softly through his hair.

"Aramis, I need for you to lie still," Athos whispered in his ear. "Do not try to move, just lie still." The lieutenant looked down the road for travelers, but there was no one. "I know you're hurting but you must not move or you'll hurt yourself worse. Listen to me now, I need to go get help."

"No, please… don't leave me!"

"I'm going to get Porthos and d'Artagnan; they're close by and can help. I promise you, I will return." Athos paused to swallow the lump rising in his throat. "You have to promise me something too."

"What?" Aramis rasped through a grimace of pain. "P-pr-promise you what?"

"Promise me that you'll lie still and wait for me to come back." Athos grasped Aramis' hand and squeezed. "Don't try to loosen the trap—you cannot, I've tried—so just lie still and wait for me to return. You stay awake and fight this; do not give in to the trap."

Aramis closed his eyes and nodded.

"You hang on until I get back… and that's an order." Athos smiled at the faint nod his command elicited. "I'll leave your dagger and your pistol within reach in case you need them." The lieutenant put the weapons near the medic's hands on the ground. "You stay awake, Aramis, and keep your eyes open for anyone—or anything—that comes near. Do you hear me?"

Aramis nodded. "Pl-please hurry…"

"You know I will." Athos gave one last squeeze to his friend's shoulder. "Remember your promise to me, brother."

"I pr-promise."

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder then ran to his horse. He burst from the trees at a gallop, nearly running headlong into a wagon carrying a trio of nuns traveling east.

"Whoa!" yelled Athos, stopping Roger in his tracks just before impact.

"I have always welcomed chance encounters," the eldest nun said as she wiped her brow in relief. "But almost running into a King's Musketeer is quite incredible."

"Forgive me, Sisters, but I'm in a hurry," he gathered his reins. "I have an emergency!"

"Perhaps there is something we can do to help," Sister Maria offered. "We are nurses; there must be a divine reason why we encountered each other in such a manner."

"Then you can help me!" Athos marveled at the chance encounter. "My friend has his foot caught in a bear trap and he is badly injured. I cannot get the trap open myself, but my companions are just down the road…"

"Of course, we'll tend to your friend," agreed a younger nun, Sister Angelica. "Just tell us where he is located so you can be on your way."

"He's straight back through those trees, behind the large pine." Athos turned in the saddle, pointing into the forest. "Please make sure that he doesn't move and keep him conscious, if possible."

"We will do all that we can for him," Sister Maria assured. "What is his name, please?"

"Aramis," Athos replied. The Musketeer looked anxiously to the trees and then back again at the nuns, reluctant to leave.

"Monsieur, I assure you that we will watch over your friend and tend to him the best that we can," Sister Angelica smiled. "Now, go retrieve your companions. Go quickly!"

The nuns watched as Athos kicked his horse into full gallop, speeding down the road until out of sight. "Gabrielle, you stay with the wagon while Sister Angelica and I go see to Aramis." The elder nun instructed as she climbed from the wagon.

Sisters Angelica and Maria went in search of Aramis, following in the direction Athos described. As the women rounded the tree, they stopped short as they found Aramis pointing his pistol at them.

"Who are… I'm s-sorry… sis-sisters." Aramis dropped his hand to the ground with the pistol. He crunched his eyes closed in a grimace of pain. "Where's … Athos?"

"He went for help; he went to get your friends," the nun replied. "I am Sister Angelica and this is Sister Maria. We are going to take care of you until your friends come back."

"P-please, get… get it off," Aramis gasped. He tried to pull at his foot, eliciting a scream of pain from the movement. "Get it off!" the medic yelled. He turned slightly, dropping his head to the ground as he was overcome with a wave of dizziness. He breathed through the dizziness, his chest heaving with heavy and ragged breaths, as he willed himself to stay awake.

"Please, Monsieur, you must lie still or you will aggravate the wound even more," Sister Maria ordered. "I am a nurse by trade. Unfortunately, there is little I can do—as long as that trap is on your foot—other than keep you comfortable. Here, take a drink." Maria held a water skin to Aramis' lips, offering relief to his parched mouth.

The nuns tenderly cared for Aramis, keeping him as comfortable as possible, as they awaited Athos' return. The sisters wiped sweat from the medic's brow and dried involuntary tears of pain as they leaked from his eyes. Angelica held him still as he moaned in pain, whispering soothing words of comfort in his ear.

"I c-can't hold on," Aramis hissed. "I can't… I can't… keep my p-promise. T-tell Athos… I'm s-sorry. I can't…"

"Aramis?" Sister Angelica asked, suddenly panicked. "Aramis!"

TBC

A/N

As an animal activist, I consider leg-hold traps to be among the cruelest and most barbaric devices for hunting/killing an animal. That said, in the late sixteenth century bear trapping began with the advent of the leg-hold trap. Bear traps are quite large with jaws spreading from ten to sixteen inches wide. Some traps had teeth with rounded edges, but most had very sharp edges. The teeth were about one inch long, and helped hold the bear in the trap. Once the jaws snap shut, they are nearly impossible to open without great strength.

Créteil: During the French Wars of Religion (1567) the Huguenots plundered the church in Créteil and burned the local charters, causing a lasting distrust and hatred of Protestants in the area.

La vie très horrifique du grand Gargantua, père de Pantagruel is translated as The very horrific life of the great Gargantua, father of Pantagruel. This long-titled book was written by François Rabelais in 1534. The modern-day title of the book is easier to remember, Gargantua and Pantagruel. It tells the story of two giants—a father, Gargantua, and his son, Pantagruel—and their adventures, written in an amusing, extravagant, and satirical manner that was racy and raw for its time.

The Huguenot Cross also known as The Cross of Languedoc: It is believed to have been a sign of recognition among the French Protestants. It was patterned after the Order of the Holy Spirit worn by Henry IV of Navarre, who issued the Edict of Nantes in 1598 to protect Protestant freedoms.

The Cross is described as such:

The insignia consists of an open four-petal Lily of France - reminiscent of the Mother Country of France - in which each petal radiates outward in the shape of a "V" to form a Maltese Cross. The four petals signify the Four Gospels. Each petal has two rounded points at the corners. These rounded points are regarded to signify the Eight Beatitudes.

The four petals are joined together by four fleur-de-lis, also reminiscent of the Mother Country of France. Each fleur-de-lis has three petals. The twelve petals of the four fleur-de-lis signify the Twelve Apostles.

An open space, between each fleur-de-lis and joining petals, form the shape of a heart. This shape - a symbol of loyalty - suggests the seal of the great French Reformer, John Calvin.

A descending dove pendant, representing the Saint Esprit or "Sainted Spirit" - the guide and counselor of the Church - is suspended from a ring of gold attached to the lower central petal.