Everyone has a past and this is mine.
D'artagnan found it easier to let people think his past was one of a simple farming boy from Gascony. However the past always has a way of rearing it's head and D'artagnan will do everything he swore he would never do again if it means keeping his brother's safe. Post 1X10, but prior season 2. D'artagnan!Whump, Brot4 cuddling at the end.
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations (no smut), almost non-con.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers, but I do own my OC's and the idea.
Everyone has a past and this is mine.
Things had settled down since everything with Milady and the Cardinal, so naturally something had to go wrong.
This was D'artagnan's way of thinking at least as he saw someone he had hoped he would never see again out of the corner of his eye as he walked down the street with Athos, Aramis and Porthos. The large Musketeer had his arm slung over their youngest shoulder as he was slightly drunk and became extremely touchy-feely when he was tipsy.
D'artagnan kept his head facing forward; he did not dare to make eye contact with that man. His heart was pounding in his chest; he was surprised no one commented on the fact that they could hear it. His mind was racing, mainly the same phrases running through his mind over and over.
Don' ' ?
"Are you alright D'artagnan? Porthos isn't doing anything inappropriate is he?" Aramis winked as he sided up to D'artagnan's free side.
"I'm not you 'mis." Porthos snorted, his words slightly slurred.
"I'm insulted, but you are drunk so I'll let that slide." Aramis laughed, winking at D'artagnan while Athos let out a groan and muttered under his breath, something about 'how on earth did I get stuck with these idiots again?' D'artagnan snorted slightly at those words and he couldn't help but feel like he was wrapped in a cocoon of safety when he was surrounded by his brothers in arms like this.
"D'artagnan is that you?" A deep voice called out, D'artagnan winced violently from his place between Aramis and Porthos causing him to gain some odd looks as a man with sandy blonde hair that reached his shoulders, covering a scar that stretched across the right side of his throat waltzed over to the group.
'So much for that cocoon of safety.' D'artagnan groaned mentally as the man stood in front of the four Musketeers.
"Marc." D'artagnan grunted, subconsciously crowding closer to Porthos' side.
"It's been far too long old friend!" Marc boomed, D'artagnan did his best to still his wince at the loud boom of the man's voice, but he stilled flinched and he knew Porthos had noticed it as the arm slung over his shoulder tightened as if he was trying to ground the younger Musketeer.
"Yes, far too long." D'artagnan agreed, trying to keep hatred out of his voice.
"I heard about your father and your farm. I am sorry for your loss." Marc went on and D'artagnan nodded stiffly.
'Sorry for my loss my ass.' D'artagnan thought annoyed.
"Are you not going to introduce me to your friends? I'm sorry for D'artagnan, he never did have any manners. I am Marc Allard from Gascony." Marc gave a dramatic bow to the group.
"I am Athos, this is Porthos and Aramis. We along with D'artagnan are of the King's Musketeers." Athos said, ever the polite one. He too had noticed D'artagnan's wary with this man and treated the newcomer with the same wariness. "The King's Musketeers? I can't believe it, you always were the best fighter in our village D'artagnan, but this? This is impressive." Marc whistled sounding impressed.
"Thank you, now if you excuse us Marc we really must be off." D'artagnan said hastily.
"You don't have to rush off D'artagnan, we have to catch up! I'm sure these fine gentlemen can survive without you for a night." Marc protested, his eyes glinting in the torchlight that lit the roads after nightfall.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea Marc." D'artagnan trailed off but stopped when he saw the look in Marc's eye and quickly pried himself away from Porthos' side, ducking out of the way of Aramis's subtle grab for him.
"I'll see you all back at the garrison later." D'artagnan promised as Marc gripped the Musketeer's left wrist in a way that looked friendly however the Musketeers doubt it was anything but.
"Be careful, these streets can be dangerous at night." Athos warned as Marc tugged D'artagnan away from the trio. D'artagnan looked back and nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line.
Once the two had vanished from sight the three turned to each other.
"I do not trust this Marc Allard." Aramis spat the man's name as if it was poison.
"From the way D'artagnan was acting, I do not believe he trusts him either. Did you see the way D'artagnan flinched at the mere sound of Marc's voice?" Porthos stated, any traces of his drunkenness had disappeared when the man first approached the group.
"We need to keep a close eye on D'artagnan when he returns. Until we know more we can not act." Athos decided, much to the annoyance of the other two.
~~/~~
"How did you find me?" D'artagnan spat at Marc as the two entered an empty alleyway. Marc slammed the Musketeer against the brick wall, holding his wrist up against the wall, Marc's fingers tightening harshly on the olive skin.
"I had lost track of you when you and your father left the village and never returned, imagine my surprise when I heard you had been commissioned by the King of France himself to be one of his Musketeers. One of my boys, a solider for the King." Marc sneered.
"I am not one of your boy anymore!" D'artagnan snarled, ripping his wrist free of Marc's fingers only to get a punch in his gut for his efforts. D'artagnan gasped through the pain as he doubled over the fist.
"You are always one of my boys D'artagnan, no matter how far you run." Marc smirked as he grabbed D'artagnan's long hair and yanked the Musketeers head backwards, slamming it against the bricks behind him. D'artagnan bit his lip to stop from crying out.
"I'm a Musketeer now Marc, I will never belong to you again." D'artagnan said defiantly.
"Those three you were with? Athos, Porthos and Aramis was it? I bet they were the only reason you became a Musketeer." Marc smirked as he leaned in close to D'artagnan's ear.
"I bet you let those three do whatever they wanted with you as long as you became a Musketeer and I bet you just begged for them to fuck you. I bet that big guy held you down while the other two toyed with you and I bet you loved every moment of it." Marc whispered and D'artagnan's face burned with rage at the mere thought of his friends ever doing something like that to anyone, let alone him.
"You do not know them, do not assume you do. They have never touched me and I have never begged. I became a Musketeer through my own skill's." D'artagnan spat venomously.
"They seem very taken with you, you always were a pretty one. Pity you always fought so hard when someone touched you, fighting you had no problems with but the moment someone tried to fuck you…" Marc remembered aloud. "I will gladly give you a matching scar on the left side of your throat." D'artagnan threatened, hand going for his sword when Marc stepped back with his hands up in front of him remembering the fight he had with D'artagnan when he received the scar.
"No need to be violent D'artagnan. It'd be best if you kept what our past together was quiet from your little Musketeer friends. I would hate for them to suffer from the same little accident as your mother." Marc smirked in triumph as D'artagnan's shoulders dropped and his hand moved from his swords hilt.
"What do you want with me Marc?" D'artagnan asked, his voice tired and resigned.
"It's rather simple D'artagnan, you leave Paris with me to take up your old place in my group. Meet me at the front gates of Paris tomorrow or your Musketeers will never see the light of a new day." Marc threatened.
"Fine." D'artagnan gritted his teeth. "Leave them in peace and I will come with you."
"Good boy." Marc mocked.
"Do not breathe a word of this to anyone and no harm will befall your Musketeers. I shall see you tomorrow D'artagnan." Marc bowed to D'artagnan with a flourish before he left the alleyway whistling cheerfully to himself.
D'artagnan slumped against the wall and slid down onto the ground.
"Damnit!" D'artagnan growled as he slammed his fist against the ground by his feet. He took a few breaths before he pulled himself upright and started the walk back to his room at the garrison, staying out of sight of everyone not willing to risk questions.
He succeeded in getting to his room unseen; he stripped off his weapons before he dropped face down on his bed, groaning at the pressure on his ribcage and wrist. He curled up on his side and stared at the door blankly. He knew he would need sleep if he was too survive whatever hell Marc had in plan for him tomorrow, but right now he needed to think of a way to get out of the garrison in the morning without arising suspicion and without actually quitting the Musketeers. He knew what Marc was capable of and he knew what would happen to Athos, Aramis and Porthos if D'artagnan refused to go with Marc. He would not take that risk, no matter how much it pains him.
He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, his mind slowly forming a plan.
~~/~~
"D'artagnan isn't down yet?" Aramis asked as he sat down next to Athos and across from Porthos, the empty seat next to Porthos void of its usual occupant. "No, if he doesn't come down soon we will have to go and check on him." Athos's eyes glanced upwards to look at the closed door that led to D'artagnan's room.
"I'm worried, you don't think that Marc did anything to him last night do you?" Porthos asked, tearing into a piece of hard bread.
"We will not know until we see him." Aramis said grimly and Athos straightened up as the door to D'artagnan's room swung open and said Musketeer appeared. He had his usual clothes on, minus his sword and pauldron, which worried the trio as he loved both those items and could rarely be seen without them.
"Something's wrong." Athos voiced what the three of them were thinking as D'artagnan trudged down to the table, fingers clutching at a letter and shoulders hunched over like he was trying to protect his stomach setting off more warning bells in the trio's minds.
"Are you alright D'artagnan?" Aramis asked.
"Fine, just slipped on some wet grass last night." D'artagnan shrugged his shoulders, keeping eye contact with Aramis. The sharp shooter blinked at the words and his mind started to whir as D'artagnan handed Athos the letter.
"What is this?" Athos asked confused going to open it.
"NO! Uh, what I meant to say was you should open it when you are with the Captain, it's for him after all." D'artagnan backtracked and took a step backwards from the table.
"Are you sure you are alright D'artagnan?" Porthos asked looking like he was ready to stand up to make sure the Gascon was uninjured.
"I'm fine, I just wanted to thank you all for what you've done for me." D'artagnan said, eyes flicking to the position of the sun in the sky.
"There is no need to thank us D'artagnan you are very skilled and you earned your commission on your own strength." Athos said with his eyes trained on their fourth member intently.
"Just thank you and I'm sorry." D'artagnan bowed his head and hurried out of the garrison before any other words could be spoken.
"What the hell was that?" Porthos asked, all eyes going to the letter in Athos's grasp.
"What he said before about slipping on wet grass, that was the same excuse he used when I asked him to cover for Marsac… Something is very wrong and I would bet my hat on it relating back to that Marc Allard." Aramis reported, his face turning grave as his eyes were lit with anger.
"We must speak with the Captain at once." Athos stated as the three stood up from their table and rushed up the stairs, bursting into Treville's office.
"I have a door for a reason gentlemen." Treville said, knowing what Musketeers it was without needing to look up from his paperwork.
"D'artagnan just left." Aramis blurted out, that got Treville to snap his head up from his paperwork. Not the words themselves, but how Aramis's voice sounded extremely distressed.
"Do you know why?" Treville asked, eyeing the unopened letter in Athos's hand.
"No, we do believe it has something to do with a man from D'artagnan's past. He introduced himself as Marc Allard." Porthos explained their suspicions.
"Allard? You are completely sure that was the man's last name?" Treville demanded, standing up quickly causing his chair to fall backwards.
"We are sure, does that mean something to you Captain?" Athos asked noting the paleness that covered their captain's face at their words.
"The letter Athos." Treville held a hand out; once he was given the piece of paper he almost tore it open.
"What does it say Captain?" Aramis asked worried for their youngest brother.
"Nothing good, I never thought the Allard's would ever set up in Gascony. Oh D'artagnan you poor boy." Treville muttered mainly to himself but the other three heard it nonetheless.
"What do you mean Captain?" Porthos edged closer to the other two who were subconsciously doing the same thing.
"There is a crime family known as Allard" Treville began and saw the color drain from his best Musketeer's faces at those mere words.
"I am from Gascony myself, they were not there when I lived there but that must have changed. The family has its fingers in all sorts of crime, their main source of income are from illegal fights and selling their fighters out to the viewers of the fight for nights together." Treville spat the words out with hatred.
"Their favorite sort of fighters are strong willed young men, or as they are later known as 'their boys'. They like to see them fight and watch them break when they forced to spend time with whoever buys them for the night."
"D'artagnan." Athos breathed out, his fists clenching in anger.
"I'm afraid so." Treville nodded his head sadly.
"In this letter D'artagnan, in not so many words explained that his mother once she heard what her son was being forced to do to protect her, she had gone to Marc Allard to get her son back. In the end she died in her sleep, D'artagnan says the truth was that Marc poisoned her and has threatened to do the same thing to the three of you if he did not leave with Marc. He is trying to protect you all from meeting the same fate as his mother." Treville folded the letter setting it on his desk.
"That self-sacrificing idiot." Athos muttered under his breath while Porthos cracked his fists preparing himself for a fight.
"Does the letter say where Marc is taking him?" Aramis asked, hand resting on the hilt of his sword out of habit.
"Back towards Gascony." Treville responded, the three turned around and strode towards the doorway.
"Do not accept any food or drink from anyone on the road, stay hidden and bring our boy back. I'll send a patrol behind you just in case." Treville called out to the trio as he pulled his chair back upright.
~~/~~
D'artagnan grumbled to himself as the ropes around his wrists were tugged sharply again. He had not foreseen Marc tying his hands together to pull him behind his horse as they went, he was about 90% sure his left wrist was sprained at the very least. He had been forced to stumble behind Marc for the last hour before they spotted a village in the distance.
"We are almost there D'artagnan." Marc called back cheerfully.
"What?" D'artagnan questioned confused.
"The village ahead is our main base nowadays, you have your first fight in about an hour and I'm sure someone will buy you afterwards. If you want your Musketeer friends to stay alive I would win the fight and do whatever it is your owner wants of you." Marc said, a smirk appearing on his lip as he let out a dark chuckle. D'artagnan felt a shudder go over his body at the words and what he was going to have to do in order to keep his brother's safe.
The next hour passed by the same as the first hour did, once they entered the village. D'artagnan kept his head down, hair falling in front of his face as his eyes darted around his training kicking in. He took note of everything he saw no matter how small it seemed, if he was going to get out of this alive the layout would come in handy.
Marc led D'artagnan to the centre of the village where a small coliseum stood, a small oval shaped sand ring in the middle of a circle of benches, going from ground level up at least three stories. Memories started to force their way to the front of his mind; he was stubborn and pushed them back as Marc handed the reins of his horse off to a young boy (who looked terrified of the Allard and pitying to D'artagnan) before Marc grabbed the other end of the rope D'artagnan was tied to and gave it a yank, D'artagnan stumbled forward managing to stay on his own two feet.
"Welcome back D'artagnan." Marc smirked as he traced D'artagnan's jawline in an almost loving way. D'artagnan wanted to jerk back with all his being, but he gritted his teeth together and let Marc stroke his jaw.
"You're learning, good, come along D'artagnan. Your fight is in 10 minutes." Marc smirked knowingly and led D'artagnan over to the coliseum where people were already started to fill the seats.
D'artagnan's hands were untied and he was stripped down to just his boots, beeches and white undershirt. D'artagnan stayed silent and still as he saw his opponent on the other side of the ring getting the same treatment. The man he was going to be fighting was perhaps the same age as Aramis, but had the build and size of Porthos. By the scars on his face and permanent bruising on his knuckles D'artagnan assumed the man was a seasoned fighter and from the bloodthirsty expression on his weather worn face he was taking part of these fights because he liked fighting.
D'artagnan was pushed into the ring and a makeshift door was slammed behind him as the other man entered of his own free will as the stands were completely filled with viewers of both gender. "The rules of this fight are simple. There are no rules, the first one to fall unconscious or well dies is the loser." Marc announced from his own section where he was sitting with rich and greedy looking men and women who D'artagnan knew would be the ones who would buy either him (if he was still alive) or his opponent at the end of this fight.
"FIGHT!" Marc shouted as he sat back in his chair, something that looked very similar to the King's throne.
The man charged at D'artagnan with a loud roar, being used to fighting hand to hand with someone of this size (Porthos) D'artagnan had a secret upper hand. The Musketeer easily sidestepped the punch the man was aiming towards his head.
"Too slow." D'artagnan smirked, his cocky side coming to light. He knew that people enjoyed some trash talking during the fights, so he easily let out all his quips loose now. The man snarled and lunged once more however when D'artagnan dodged, the man had been expecting it and used his foot to hook behind the Musketeer's ankle sending him crashing onto his back.
D'artagnan grunted as the wind was knocked out of him and thick fingers wrapped around his neck. D'artagnan's hands went to the man's wrists, trying to pry the fingers off his throat. He knew it wasn't going to work so he brought up his foot and kicked the man in the crotch, hard. The man fell to his knees as his hands released D'artagnan's throat and down to his crotch out of reflex. D'artagnan scurried to his feet and locked his fingers behind the man's neck and slammed the man's face into the knee which he had harshly jerked upwards and the man dropped like a rock with blood streaming from the now broken nose and at least a concussion.
"No rules remember." D'artagnan smirked at the unconscious man lying by his feet as the crowd roared at his win.
"The winner is D'artagnan!" Marc announced as he stood up, looking far too smug at the fact D'artagnan had won like he had many times in the past.
"Now the pleasure of taking our champion home is Kale." Marc went on, the smirk growing larger as a sleazy muscle bound man stood up and licked his lips as he looked over D'artagnan. The crowd cheered, it was much more hushed and sounded more forced than it had been before. Clearly this Kale was bad news if even the spectators felt bad for him.
D'artagnan stood still and let himself be manhandled out of the ring and towards a small hut to await for his new 'owner'.
D'artagnan was shoved into the hut and he almost face planted onto the bed that was placed there; in fact it was the only thing in the small hut. His escorts forced him onto said bed and cold metal manacles clamped around his wrists, keeping his arms above his head to the headboard above his head. The men left and D'artagnan grunted annoyed as he twisted his wrists around in the shackles trying to get free, he only succeeded in injuring his wrist more. He had managed to avoid using it too much during the fight, but now he was not sure how badly it was injured now.
Aramis would not be pleased. D'artagnan knew that the medic would understand what he meant when he said he slipped on grass, he knew that Treville would understand his letter being from Gascony himself so he would know all about the Allard family and their dealings. He knew they would follow him and all he could hope was that they would get to him before Kale did, the door creaked open and hope flared in him before it died down seeing it was Kale and not one of his brothers.
"You fought well boy." Kale commented in an oily sounding voice as he pulled of his jacket eyeing the boy chained on the bed with a lustful look in his dark eyes.
D'artagnan kept his lips pressed together and just lashed out with his foot when Kale ran his hand up the Musketeer's leg. Kale hissed as D'artagnan's foot made contact with his elbow. Kale slapped the Musketeer across the face harshly, his rings leaving a cut on his cheekbone and a spilt lip behind.
"Try anything like that again and I will leave more than a couple cuts behind." Kale hissed, far too close to D'artagnan's face. Deciding not to heed the warning, D'artagnan slammed his head forward, head-butting Kale. He watched pleased as Kale howled in pain as he almost fell backwards off the bed, clutching his forehead where a bump was forming.
"Insolent whelp!" Kale snarled and reached to his belt withdrawing a dagger, it glinted in the candlelight that lit the hut as Kale adjusted his grip on the hilt and he edged up D'artagnan's body, Kale raised the blade above his head in a stance to strike down at D'artagnan with it.
"Unless you wish to loose your life I would drop the dagger." A voice rang out as a sword appeared at Kale's throat, applying pressure to the skin leaving a few drops of blood behind. Another hand gripped the wrist that held the dagger and with a strong twist Kale cried out and the dagger drop harmlessly by D'artagnan's shoulder.
"You're late." D'artagnan sagged in the shackles, not being able to keep a smile off his lips.
"You didn't exactly leave easy clue's." Aramis commented as he moved around Athos who kept his blade against Kale's neck as Porthos retrieved the fallen dagger.
"I thought I was rather brilliant." D'artagnan complained as Aramis brought out his lock picks and started in on the metal cuffs around his wrists.
"It was well thought out, why you couldn't just tell us straight up I will never know." Aramis grumbled as one of the cuffs clicked open, quickly followed the second one. He helped D'artagnan sit up before he started to inspect the younger man for injures. He hissed in anger at the damage to D'artagnan's wrist and bruises on his stomach.
"Thank you for coming, I am sorry I placed you three in a situation like this." D'artagnan bowed his head.
"Nonsense, I think we have placed you in much worse situations than this before. I think it's about even now." Porthos chuckled as he made quick work of restraining Kale in the corner of the hut as Athos moved to the free side of D'artagnan.
"We understand why you did not tell us D'artagnan, everyone has something about their past they do not wish to discuss or relive." Athos said knowingly as he ran his fingers through D'artagnan's long hair pushing the locks back so he could inspect the cuts on his face.
"The past does have a way of coming back to haunt us." D'artagnan said knowingly, hissing out as Aramis applied pressure to his wrist. "Everyone has a past and this is mine."
"It's badly sprained, perhaps broken. I'll have to bind it." Aramis stated as he tore at the bottom of his shirt, pulling off a long strip of fabric. He expertly wrapped it around D'artagnan's wrist, muttering apologies whenever D'artagnan winced from the pain.
"What is the plan?" D'artagnan asked as he held his now bound wrist to his chest, looking at the three older men.
"What makes you think we have a plan?" Porthos asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I know you three far too well." D'artagnan deadpanned.
"The captain has sent a patrol of Musketeers about 20 minutes behind us, they should be reaching this village very soon. The Allard family will finally be finished and we would like to get you out of here before the attack begins, can you walk?" Athos explained.
"I should be able to." D'artagnan nodded and with help from Aramis and Athos the youngest Musketeer stood on his own two feet.
"It's clear, we have to move now." Porthos called back softly from where he was peering out the doorway. D'artagnan nodded and took a step, he let out a gasp of surprise as his legs refused to hold his weight.
"Easy there." Aramis said soothingly as he quickly slid his arm across D'artagnan's shoulders, taking the younger man's weight.
"Thanks." D'artagnan flashed a grateful smile at the medic who gave the Gascon his charming smile in return.
The group exited the hut, sticking to the edge of the village, moving at a slow pace because of their injured brother not wanting to disturb his wrist or ribs anymore than they were already. However it would seem that their caution was their downfall.
"Well, well, well." Marc's mocking voice echoed out as he walked out in front of the group, in his hand was a sword that he had pointed towards D'artagnan. Aramis gripped D'artagnan tighter while Porthos and Athos moved around the two protectively.
"Didn't we have a deal D'artagnan?" Marc shook his head in mock sadness.
"They found me on their own so the deal is intact." D'artagnan shot back.
"Hm, it's such a pity too. Having four Musketeers fighting under my command would be wonderful, it's a shame I'll have to kill you three, to teach a lesson to D'artagnan here." Marc pointed his sword at the older three Musketeers.
"We're surrounded." Athos muttered, eyes darting around to a dozen men who came out of the surrounding area, circling the Musketeers. D'artagnan swore in his head, he had been so focused on Marc that he had not even noticed the others.
"The rest will be here soon, we have to stall." Porthos whispered, fists tightening.
"Marc!" D'artagnan shrugged off Aramis's arm and stepped forward, pushing his way past Athos and Porthos.
"Hm?" Marc asked almost sounding lazy.
"I know how things work here. I challenge you to a fight! If I win my friends and I go free, if you win. I will fight for you willingly while the Musketeers will leave to tell the Captain and the King of my retirement from the Musketeers." D'artagnan squared his shoulders staring Marc down with determined eyes.
"Hahaha, you were always the most headstrong of my boys D'artagnan. Very well I accept your challenge, bring them to the ring!" Marc sheathed his sword, waving his hand. The four were herded together before they were pushed towards the direction of the ring.
"Are you insane?" Athos whispered harshly at the youngest member of their group. "You are still injured!" Aramis added in strongly, very much against this idea as he pulled D'artagnan's right wrist over his shoulder to help steady the youngest of their group.
"There was no other choice, we have to stall right?" D'artagnan responded in a low voice so the men guarding them could not overhear.
"There has to be another way." Porthos grunted an eye trained on the injured wrist D'artagnan was sporting.
"I know how these fights work, I know I can take Marc. How do you think he got that scar on the side of his neck? He let me get a blade and he almost lost his neck because of it." D'artagnan stated strongly not meeting any of his brother's eyes.
"I doubt he will let you get near a blade again then." Aramis muttered, slightly impressed as he had seen the scar. It looked like it was almost fatal, it was very precise and clean, perhaps after this was all over he should train the Gascon in the arm of healing lord knows they could use another medic on their team.
"If I know Marc as well as I think I do, that won't be much of a problem. This will not be a place for honour and what I do in the ring will be for the survival of us all." D'artagnan said, eyeing the others knowing how they felt about honour while fighting.
"We will not hold anything you do in there against you D'artagnan, just win." Porthos clapped the younger man's shoulder in a friendly way.
"I thank you." D'artagnan inclined his head as the other two nodded their agreement with Porthos' statement.
By this point the group had arrived at the ring once more, D'artagnan spotted his previous opponent in the stands, a bloodied cloth over his nose. The man made a throat slitting action directed at D'artagnan who just raised an eyebrow.
"Why does that man wish to cut your throat?" Athos asked, seeing the interaction.
"Hm? Oh when I got here I had a fight against him, broke his nose and may have given him a concussion." D'artagnan said absently, as the same men from before came over and pulled him away from Aramis. "I'll be fine, I swear it." D'artagnan said soothingly as his brother's reacted badly to D'artagnan being ripped away from them as other men pulled the three towards the crude stands on the outside of the ring, rope binding their hands in front of their bodies and men restraining them.
D'artagnan was once more pushed into the ring as Marc strode around, showing off to the crowd.
"I have been challenged to a fight by our veteran D'artagnan! He is fighting for his and his friend's freedom!" Marc announced to the spectators who stomped their feet in agreement as they all understood the rules of a challenge.
"The winner is the one not on the ground unconscious or dead!" Marc smirked at the three Musketeers as he spoke.
"Now D'artagnan let us BEGIN!" Marc shouted and D'artagnan sunk into a battle ready stance, sorely missing the weight of his blade in his right hand. Marc kept circling the ring, like shark circling it's prey. D'artagnan kept his senses open and his eyes on Marc at all times, unwilling to make the first move in the fight. This went on for another minute before Marc's patience seemed to have broken as he launched himself at D'artagnan.
D'artagnan ducked under a swing of Marc's fist and countered by swinging his own fist at Marc's unguarded right flank, Marc went to defend the blow with his left forearm. D'artagnan had been expecting this and easily changed his direction, pleased when his fist made hard contact on Marc's left flank instead. He hurried backwards as Marc howled in pain, bring his right fist downwards in hopes of catching D'artagnan, but he missed.
"You never used strategy before D'artagnan." Marc hissed out, glowering at D'artagnan.
"A lot has changed Marc." D'artagnan said smoothly, shooting a quick glance at his brothers, who despite the situation they were in looked rather proud of his first move.
"You may be right." Marc conceded as he darted forward, light glinting off an object he had concealed in the sleeve of his shirt. He had flicked the hidden dagger into his grip as he rushed towards the Gascon, D'artagnan could only manage to twist his body to the side seconds before the dagger pierced the flesh on his left side thus lessening the injury to a non-fatal one.
D'artagnan let out a gasp, body going still as Marc stepped back yanking the now blood coated dagger out of the young Musketeer. D'artagnan's left hand automatically went to apply pressure to burning, throbbing stab wound, he was thankful it had hit below the scar from when Athos shot him as he fell to his knees.
"No rules remember?" Marc asked, raising his arms up to the roar of the crowd that was overpowering the shouts of anger and D'artagnan's name from the three Musketeers who were thrashing against their captors and bindings in earnest now.
"You are right." D'artagnan breathed through the pain, sliding his hand into the side of his right boot. He glared up at Marc through strands of his long brown hair and flicked his wrist towards the man.
Marc let out a gurgle, hands flying to his throat where the hidden knife D'artagnan had thrown at him was now located, Marc reached out towards D'artagnan before he fell onto his back, struggling for breath as blood pooled around his throat and head as the light left his eyes and body stilled. D'artagnan staggered to his feet, noting the silence that now covered the ring and the stands.
"There are no rules." D'artagnan stated coldly staring impassionedly down at the dead form of Marc. He applied harder pressure on his stab wound and looked around the ring defiantly.
"Marc Allard is dead! Those of you who were forced to fight or serve under him are now free! Take back what is your birthright! Every man and woman was born free; no one has the right to take that from you!" D'artagnan shouted, his voice strong and he grinned as men and woman of all ages that had been dragged into the Allard's rule started to cheer for D'artagnan and started to take up arms to defend them selves against those who willingly served the Allard's.
As D'artagnan spoke, the rest of the Musketeers appeared and the village was thrown into chaos as criminals were taken down and people were freed when D'artagnan's strong words tampered off.
In this chaos, Athos, Porothos and Aramis overpowered their guards and freed them selves. Porthos yanked the makeshift door of it's hinges and the trio hurried to the Gascon's side, Athos steadying the now swaying D'artagnan while Aramis ripped part of his shirt to make quick bandages to wrap the stab wound.
"Inspiring speech D'artagnan." Porthos said, eyes a bit misty as he guarded his brothers from anyone who would dare to come after D'artagnan.
"I liked to think so, are you all alright?" D'artagnan asked, visually checking each of them for injuries, seeing none he sagged in relief against Athos.
"It didn't open your old bullet wound or touch any of your injured ribs." Aramis muttered as he tightened the strip of fabric making D'artagnan hiss at the pressure.
"You twisted just enough for the blade to miss your vitals did you not?" Athos asked, eyeing the wound and remembering how the Gascon had twisted suddenly when Marc was in front of him.
"Yes." D'artagnan breathed out, spots appearing in his vision.
"I think it's time to leave." Porthos stated, the chaos had started to die down and the Musketeers were going around to help those held there against their will.
"We need to find a place we can let D'artagnan rest, I highly doubt he will be able to ride back to Paris at this moment." Aramis commented, wiping some of D'artagnan's blood off his hands onto his doublet.
D'artagnan thought this was a good idea as his whole vision was black and his eyes closed on their own will with the thought of why bothering to keep them open if he couldn't see anything.
"D'artagnan!" Athos said worriedly as the young Musketeers body suddenly just went limp in his grasp, the Gascon's head as lolling against the older man's chest.
"He passed out from pain and blood loss. We need to get him on a bed so I can properly stitch the wound." Aramis peeled back one of D'artagnan's eyes, checking for a concussion; pleased he did not find one.
"Aramis, over here!" A fellow Musketeer who had been sent in the patrol Treville had put together called out as he rushed over to the group; hand on the hilt of his sword as a reflex.
"What is it Didier?" Aramis asked, eyeing the uninjured Musketeer, his focus still mainly on D'artagnan.
"We found what looks like an infirmary that you can take D'artagnan to." Didier reported and was rewarded with pleased looks, Porthos clapping the man on his shoulder as Aramis moved to the other side of D'artagnan. With Athos' help Aramis managed to haul D'artagnan into the infirmary Didier had brought them to. The Musketeers gently laid the unconscious form of their brother onto the closet cot and Aramis went to work, ordering Porthos and Athos around the small infirmary to gather the supplies he needed to clean and stitch up the stab wound and to bind D'artagnan's rib's and check on the Gascon's wrist.
Time passed tensely for the older Musketeers as Aramis did his best to treat their youngest. Finally Aramis sank onto the edge of the cot next to the one D'artagnan was resting on and started to wipe his hands off on a cloth.
"How is he?" Porthos asked sitting next to his brother, letting Aramis lean against his shoulder, as the medic was exhausted. Athos stood next to D'artagnan's beside, hand resting softly on their youngest forehead, pleased not to feel any heat coming from it.
"He will survive, we will need to keep an eye on the stab wound in case of infection." Aramis said his voice was rough.
"You patched him up well as per usual 'Mis." Porthos slung his arm around Aramis' shoulder, fingers stroking the sharp shooter's hair softly.
"Sleep, I will wake you if there is any change in his condition." Athos promised, seeing how exhausted medic was.
"Fine." Aramis gave in after a moment of being stared down by Athos and Porthos.
Time passed by and the clean up finished, the village was returned to its rightful occupants who insisted that their saviors stayed the night or until their hero D'artagnan was well enough to ride. Didier had sent a messenger back to Paris to inform Treville of what transpired before he and a few others told Athos and Porthos they would stand guard for the night so the group could rest.
The moon was high in the sky when D'artagnan eyes slowly opened, he felt warm and comfortable. Sure he felt pain coming from his side, wrist and ribs but the feeling of being safe overpowered them as he had an idea that Aramis had forced a pain draught down his throat while he had been unconscious. No that he was complaining of course, he peered around the infirmary like room he was in.
He turned his head to the side and saw the reasoning behind his feeling of being safe, warm and comfortable. Aramis had managed to wedge himself on the right side of D'artagnan, face pressed against the Gascon's uninjured rib cage, his breathing was easy and his face looked peaceful, well as peaceful as it could when it was pressed against his side. Aramis had one arm lying across his own waist and his free arm was lying over D'artagnan's heart like he was feeling for the heartbeat.
Porthos had curled himself up at the foot of D'artagnan's bed, one hand was forming a pillow under his head as he slept on and his free hand was gently wrapped around D'artagnan's ankle while his own ankles were dangling off the side of the cot, either way Porthos was fast asleep and looked just as at ease as Aramis did.
D'artagnan realized that there was a slight pressure on the top of his head, he glanced upwards not moving his head and smiled slightly at the sight of Athos. The older man was half on and half off the head of the bed beside D'artagnan's head. His head was tipped backwards against the wall, eyes closed and mouth slightly open as he slept on, unaware that D'artagnan had awakened. Athos' had his right hand slightly tangled in D'artagnan's hair in a soothing manner to both himself and the youngest of their group.
D'artagnan smiled happily, his eyes closing shut to slip back into his own peaceful slumber. Marc was gone, the village had been saved and most of all, his brother's were safe from the ghosts of his past.