Warning: There's mention and very short description of murdered children.
A big thank you to fredbasset from AO3 for the beta and the immediate processing! Remaining typos and mistakes are all mine!
I do not own any of the series' characters, they are property of BBC One and Monsieur Dumas. There is no copyright infringement intended, I only borrowed the characters and concept for this work of fan fiction.
CHAPTER 1
"Look, isn't that your young protégé from Douai over there?" Athos pointed to the far end of the market with a nod of his chin.
Aramis turned to look, unable to detect what the other thought he had seen. "I don't know what you mean, I can't see anyone who even remotely reminds me of Luc," the marksman replied after a moment of gazing in the indicated direction.
It didn't escape Athos' notice that Aramis assumed immediately he was speaking of Luc when he mentioned the former monk's charges, but the captain didn't comment on it; he simply stowed the knowledge away for later.
"Yes, it's him. And look, isn't the girl little Marie?" Porthos agreed with Athos, nodding and waving his hand vaguely into the direction where market stands lined up under the archways of Saint-Sulpice. Then his hand, holding a carrot, returned to his mouth and he took another bite.
"Where? I can't - Oh!" Aramis finally detected what his brothers were talking about. More quietly he uttered, "That's Luc and Marie."
"What are they doing here in Paris?" Athos asked, not addressing anyone in particular, "I mean besides apparently trying to steal a loaf of bread?" Looking out from under the brim of his hat he studied the scene at the far end of the market.
Luc, looking every bit like a guttersnipe trying to steal from the market stalls while the owners were looking away, turned his head left and right, then he let his gaze sweep over the market bustle, studying the merchants and market goers. Marie, meanwhile, distracted the woman behind the bread stall, the little girl fidgeting at the other end from where the boy was, catching the saleswoman's attention. With a swift motion Luc grabbed one of the loaves from the baskets and had it hidden underneath his jacket in no time, his face a study of innocence. Quickly he made his way away from the stall, throwing an acute glance over his shoulder to see if anyone had caught him stealing. Marie stopped her charade the moment she saw Luc walking away and made a beeline for her companion. As soon as she reached the young man, Luc grabbed her hand, dragging her along with him. They headed directly towards where the Musketeers lingered in the shadow of the guildhall.
"What the...?" Aramis muttered angrily, his face morphing into an irate storm cloud. "I've taught them better than to steal." He took a couple of steps into the direction of the approaching kids, then his expression shifted, softening from angry to startled. "What are they doing here?"
Athos and Porthos abandoned their spots in the shade, following their comrade into the square.
"Luc!" Aramis yelled over the crowded market, trying to catch the boy's attention.
Luc didn't hear him, not unexpected given how noisy the market was. Suddenly he stopped and stood with Marie clutched to his side, looking around. With his next step he changed direction, steering to the left side of the market where the Rue de Canettes offered the fastest escape route away from the market.
"Luc! Marie!" Aramis called again, but neither the boy nor Marie showed any reaction. "Luc, wait!"
"He looks a little worse for wear, if you ask me," Athos muttered, trailing behind the marksman. "What in God's name are they doing here in Paris?"
"Oi!" Porthos shouted, shoving a man out of his way. "Look where you're walking!"
Whether it had been Porthos' booming voice or Aramis' continued calling or something entirely different they didn't know, but Marie suddenly turned her head towards where the Musketeers were approaching. Her face lit up as soon as she recognized them and she started waving frantically. When they were near enough, they could hear her shouting, "Porthos, Porthos!", just before she broke free from Luc and started running towards the big man.
Luc had turned to see what or whom Marie was yelling at, spotting the three Musketeers the moment Marie broke away from him. He froze on the spot, staring at the approaching men.
Marie flung herself into the big man's arms as soon as she reached Porthos, the latter gently lifting her up. "Hello, little one, nice to see you again."
Marie was all smiles and pressed her small body to Porthos while he trailed behind his friends until they reached Luc.
"What are you doing here?" Aramis inquired, looking the boy up and down. "It's good to see you, my friend," he added after a moment, stepping closer to the boy, arms outstretched for a hug, but Luc shied away from Aramis.
"That's none of your business. Come, Marie, we need to go." Luc sidestepped Aramis' arms and reached for Marie. The little girl, however, had no intention of leaving Porthos' embrace, pressing even deeper into the Musketeer's strong arms.
"Luc, what's wrong? Why do you say that?" Aramis looked puzzled due to the harsh reply, his gaze switching between Marie and Luc. "What are you and Marie doing here in Paris? Why are you here and not in Douai?"
"It's none of your business, Aramis, I already told you that. Why would you be interested in us? You left with your Musketeer brothers. What concern is it of yours if we're here or not?" The words were like daggers, picked to hurt, and Luc gazed at Aramis with a cold stare. His voice, however, betrayed the boy; there was a tremor in it, hinting at suppressed emotions, and exhaustion.
Aramis was taken aback. "Why do you say that?" He shared a quick glance with Athos. "You know I care for you!"
Luc kept staring at Aramis hostilely, and it was clear he wouldn't say any more. Also obvious was that if Marie had not abandoned Luc for Porthos, the boy would have turned around immediately and left. Now it seemed he didn't dare walk away without her. Or walk away on his own.
"They are all dead, the others. It's only Luc and me, we got away," Marie's clear voice carried over the noise around them. "Luc said we go find you. You will help us."
All eyes turned to Marie, whose gaze switched from Aramis to Luc and back.
"What?" Aramis rasped, staring wide-eyed at the little girl, then back to Luc. "Is this true? How? Why?"
When Luc still refused to answer, Athos grabbed the young man's shoulder, urging, "Luc, what happened in Douai? If you are angry with Aramis don't let Marie suffer because of it. Are either of you injured?"
Luc shook his head, and the Musketeers could see a shimmer of tears in the boy's eyes, despite his obvious effort to look as angry and off with Aramis as he could manage in the situation.
Aramis stepped up to the boy, carefully putting his hand on Luc's other shoulder, mirroring Athos' stance "Tell me. Please," he added softly.
"The others are all dead," Luc stuttered out, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He came back, not long after you had gone. He killed everyone, only Marie and I escaped." Luc dragged a dirty sleeve over his nose to wipe away the snot that had appeared; the tears he was managing to keep at bay as yet. "It was the same one I saw killing the abbot. The hooded man."
Silence fell between them, making the busy market noises appear all the louder.
"Luc says it wouldn't have happened if you had stayed with us. They would still be alive." Marie's eyes focused on Aramis, her expression too knowing and earnest for such a young girl. "But he's wrong. You'd be dead as well..." her voice trailed off. Almost inaudibly, she breathed, "He's angry with you because you left." Marie's eyes darted to Luc and back to Aramis, guilt written on her face for having betrayed her friend. "But I'm glad you did. I'm glad you're alive," she whispered.
"Marie," Luc hissed, but his tone lacked the fever and ire he might have wanted to add to his voice; he knew she told the truth. He glanced to Aramis. "You could have saved them. You're a soldier, you could have fought and defended them. It wouldn't have happened if you had stayed."
Luc's statement pierced Aramis right to the heart.
Porthos shifted Marie to his other side and moved closer to Aramis, trying to aid the other with his presence. Porthos knew he had hurt his friend with what he had said to him in Douai, and back in Paris, the way he had acted and still did sometimes. He had wanted to hurt him, to make Aramis feel what he had felt when they had had to go to war without their comrade. Deep in his heart the big man knew he'd acted childishly and sulkily, that Aramis had had no choice, that he had never intended to hurt one of his brothers. Porthos knew this, but it was not easy to forgive and forget, for too long he had nursed a grudge against his friend. It was what had kept him going, without this grudge he might not have been able to survive the war, and now it was hard to shake it off. But he wouldn't stand seeing anyone else hurt Aramis the same way he had.
"Aramis," Porthos appealed urgently to his friend. "Let's go back to the garrison. The kids are hungry, they need something to eat and a place to rest. Here's not the right place to discuss these things."
Athos looked past Porthos to where he could see d'Artagnan heading their way. "It seems d'Artagnan has fulfilled his mission and handed over the missive. No need to linger here any longer."
The Gascon's brows almost met his hairline when he took in the scene before him, but one look at his captain stalled any questions he might have had upon seeing Luc and Marie here with his companions. Instead he reported, "The message is delivered and there's a short reply note I have to return." He patted his doublet where the letter was stowed away. "I'd better deliver it to Tréville right away."
Athos removed his hand from Luc's shoulder after squeezing it reassuringly and acknowledged d'Artagnan's report with a nod. "We return to the garrison and afterwards you can proceed to the palace."
The captain turned on his heels to lead the way back to the Musketeer's quarters, d'Artagnan falling in line with their leader, but his attention shifted to Luc, and then Marie. "Hello, Luc, nice to see you again. Salut, Marie." He had already sensed the tense atmosphere between the boy and the Musketeers before he had reached the group, but he couldn't just ignore the kids. He wondered what had happened and why both children had turned up in Paris. Athos, however, had made it clear his curiosity would have to wait until they were back at the garrison.
They made their way back with Athos and d'Artagnan in the lead and Luc, walking with his head down and sagging shoulders, behind them. Aramis walked beside Luc, but a step or two behind so as not to intimidate the youngster, the marksman's eyes continuously drifting to the boy. Porthos had lifted Marie over his head to sit on his shoulders and the girl had squeaked with joy. Now the two of them were bringing up the rear and Marie's chattering was the only sound breaking the silence that surrounded the small group like a black cloud.
Marie told Porthos of the adversities and adventures they had met on their way from Douai to Paris, and it all was seen through the eyes of a child, unaware of how serious the situations had been. Two things they could read between the lines in Marie's blithe narrations stuck out strikingly, and each man stowed them away for later. One was the hostilities and hunger the children had experienced on their trip, the other thing was that at some point during their journey Luc must have received an injury which he was obviously hiding well.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
When they entered the garrison, Athos immediately made his way to his office, signaling to Aramis to take care of the kids and to d'Artagnan to follow him. Before the men had reached their usual table in the courtyard, Constance emerged from the kitchen. Catching sight of Luc and Marie among her returning Musketeers she jerked to a halt, her eyes moving to d'Artagnan for an explanation.
The Gascon shook his head slighty, indicating to his wife he would explain later, then he covered the distance between him and her and planted a kiss on her lips. It was an effective way to silence her, or so d'Artagnan thought, but Constance would have none of it. Even though she returned the kiss she shoved her husband quickly away. One look at him and he could read all the questions she had in her eyes. Before the Gascon could react, or Constance open her mouth, Aramis spoke.
"Constance, meet Luc and Marie. They are hungry and exhausted, they have traveled a long way. Do you have something to fill their bellies?" The tone with which Aramis spoke conveyed so much more to Constance than the simple request for food.
"Of course, we've a lamb stew over the fire and the bread is just ready. I'll bring you all something of it." With a last glance to her husband she turned and hurried back to the kitchen.
"D'Artagnan," Athos called from the balcony. "I'm waiting."
The Gascon rolled his eyes, making sure Athos could see it from where he stood above them and made his way up.
Porthos had placed Marie on the bench, taking the seat beside her. Luc was still standing in the courtyard a few feet away from the table, looking around and taking in everything. Aramis gently took his arm, prompting the young man to look at the former monk. "Take a seat, Constance will bring something to eat and drink."
Luc hesitated as if he wanted to reply something, but finally turned and slumped down on the bench opposite Marie. "I never thought I would one day see the Musketeer's garrison," he said quietly and with no small amount of awe in his voice, and then, facing Aramis, "You look so different in your uniform. So different from when you were-," he fished for words for a second or two, and finally simply ended with, "Brother Aramis."
Porthos barked a laugh, unable to stop himself. "And it's fitting him so much better than a monk's habit, that's for sure." He winked at Marie who nodded animatedly.
Before Aramis could respond Constance returned with a tray loaded with cups and bowls and fresh bread. Brujon trailed behind her with the huge cauldron that usually hung over the kitchen fire. Whether Constance had run out of soup tureens or whether she thought their hunger would be so exorbitant that it was pointless to bring only a bowl, they didn't know, but Porthos' eyes lit up seeing the iron pot being placed on the table in front of him. Constance handed out bowls and cups and spoons and started ladling soup into the bowls, starting with Marie's. With her free hand she slapped Porthos' hands away when he grabbed for the bread, tutting at him. "Wait until it's your turn," she hissed, shoving a full bowl of soup towards Marie with a smile.
Aramis poured out drinks, water for the young'uns and wine for him and Porthos. When Constance looked at him, inquiring if he wanted a bowl of soup, he shook his head and moved to the post beside Porthos, leaning against it. Silently he watched the others eat, Luc and Marie virtually gulping down the food as if they feared it would be taken away from them again at any minute. They were downright famished and Aramis wondered when they had last eaten anything. His eyes hardly ever left Luc and his thoughts drifted back to his time at the monastery, and the first time he had met the young man.
Athos and d'Artagnan came back down, the Gascon making his way over to the stable to get a horse. In addition to the letter he had to deliver to Tréville, his doublet now held a couple of missives for the Minister of War as well, handed over to him by the captain together with a few instructive words.
Athos waited until d'Artagnan had vanished through the barn door, then his attention turned towards the table, and the people sitting there. He strolled over to Aramis who was startled out of his thoughts when a shadow fell on him. Aramis looked up. A tiny motion of Athos' head indicated his friend should follow him a few feet away from the table, where they could talk undisturbed.
Both Musketeers strolled over to the stable from which d'Artagnan emerged. Aramis grabbed for the horse's reins, holding the beast until the Gascon had mounted. "Give my greetings to Tréville," the marksman said, adding lightly, "and the Queen if you see her." His innocent grin countered d'Artagnan's scowl.
D'Artagnan didn't bother to answer, instead he spurred his horse, glowering at Aramis and throwing a last glance at Athos.
Athos, who had long since given up commenting on Aramis' unhealthy liaison with the Queen, or the marksman's behavior in regard to that, contented himself with the poignant look he had honed over the years he has spent dealing with Aramis. Then he nodded towards the table. "Do we know what happened?"
Aramis shook his head, following his captain's line of gaze. "No. They are famished, let them eat first, and settle. Afterwards, we'll talk to Luc." Aramis watched Constance serve a second fill to Luc, or maybe it was already the third, and he hoped they wouldn't have to throw up later if they ate too much so fast. Marie ate far slower now than the boy, nibbling at a chunk of bread at the moment, and Aramis was convinced the girl hadn't gone as hungry as Luc during their journey. The young man had certainly made sure Marie got the lion's share, if not all, of the meager food they had been able to scrape together. "Let them get some rest first."
Athos studied Aramis for a moment. "You care a lot for the boy," Athos said casually, his gaze shifting from Aramis to Luc and back again. "He means a lot to you."
"Yes, he does, of course. They all do. Did," Aramis added after a second, realizing that except for Luc and Marie, all the other children were gone. As were the monks, if what the kids had reported was true. He still couldn't believe it. He shook his head. "Of course they do, I cared for most of them for years, they were-. They mean a lot to me. For them I was..." Aramis trailed off.
"Aramis, don't do this. None of this is your fault. You wouldn't have prevented this if you had stayed." Athos' gaze bore into the other's eyes. "Your decision to come back with us was right. You are a Musketeer, not a monk."
"I abandoned them, just like I abandoned you. If I had stayed, I could have fought. Whoever this man is, he wouldn't have been able to kill them all. With me, they would have had a chance."
"That's not right and you know it. You didn't abandon us, and you didn't abandon them, no matter what Porthos tries to make you believe. He was frustrated and disappointed, and he let his anger get the better of him. He didn't mean anything he said to you back then in the monastery."
"I hurt him. I walked away from him and he was right in what he said. I had his back, always, he never needed to worry about it, and then I turned my back on all of you. Just like I did with the monks and the children."
Athos heaved a frustrated sigh. "Don't, Aramis. Don't blame yourself for everything bad that ever happens to anyone near you or close to your heart. It's not your fault and you did not abandon them. You left because your place is here. You spent four years pondering over what you are, who you are, what you've done or not done or what you might have to atone for. You said for yourself, God showed you your place in this world. I heard you, back there in Douai," Athos added softly, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.
Aramis glanced sideways to study Athos' face for a moment. Nodding, he replied, "I know you're right. And I know my place is here. I never wanted to be anything else than a Musketeer, this is what I'm made for, that's what I realized in the years in Douai. Still, it doesn't change the fact I could have prevented what happened if I had stayed. No matter the circumstances. In that, Luc is right."
Athos squeezed the marksman's shoulder before he let go. "Luc is frustrated, he feels hurt. He adores you. He looks up to you. Naturally he wished you'd stayed, even though he might never admit it. I don't know what you've been to him when you were the monk Aramis, but I've seen how his eyes lit up when he realized the stories about Porthos and d'Artagnan and me were true, and how he looked at you once he understood you were one of us. The Musketeer Aramis. He looks up to you, sees something like a father figure in you. Boys around his age need someone they can look up to, they can turn to." Athos sighed once more. "Believe me, mon ami, I know what I'm talking about."
Despite all the years they had served together, the deep friendship, the brotherhood they shared, Athos had never revealed much about his past. Well, none of them had, and it had nothing to do with trust. It just had never been necessary. Aramis was sure Athos referred to his former life when he talked about father figures and the need to look up to someone. If he referred to his own father, his brother Thomas or himself, Aramis didn't know, nor the role Athos had played in it. But from the short flicker of sadness scurrying over the former comte's face, Aramis was convinced it involved not only the brother Athos never mentioned.
"He is a good boy. A clever boy; everything I taught him, he soaked it all up. He helped me a lot with the children, too." Aramis eyes grew distant, remembering his time at the monastery, when he was responsible for the education of the children, and their leisure time. The stories he had told them and how they had gathered around him and hang on his every word. "Only his obsession with the Musketeers was a thing we quarreled over continuously," Aramis said with a smile in his voice. "I couldn't get it out of him, his adoration for the Musketeers, his wish to one day be one of them. One of us." Fondly he looked over to where Luc had finished his last helping, scraping the rest of the soup out of the bowl with a chunk of bread. "The attack from the Spanish at the monastery cured him, however. And look, now he's here."
Both men watched Constance gathering the empty bowls and returning everything to the kitchen with the help of Brujon. Aramis took a gulp from the cup in his hand. "Let's see what they have to tell."
Constance returned to the table, addressing Marie. "You, little lady, are coming with me. You'll have to soak for at least half an hour to get all the dirt off you and then we'll see if I can get a comb through your hair. Come," she said to Marie, opening her arms to the girl. Marie quickly looked at Porthos, who nodded reassuringly with a wink, then at Luc who nodded too. The girl climbed over the bench to Constance, grabbing her hand. Madame d'Artagnan turned to Luc, her free hand on her hip, and a friendly scowl only Constance could manage to display on her face. "And you, young man, will do the same. Believe me, I won't hesitate in the slightest to scrub you from head to toe myself, so you'd better make sure you're properly bathed the next time I see you." She said it in a friendly and soft voice, but the subliminal message stuck with Luc nonetheless. He nodded frantically. "Yes, madame!"
"Make sure he bathes and gets fresh clothes," Constance instructed Aramis who had stepped up behind Luc, before she turned around and led Marie to the washhouse.
Luc craned his head and looked up at Aramis.
Aramis put a hand on the young man's shoulder, and this time Luc neither flinched nor tried to shake it off. "Have you had enough?"
Luc nodded, and his face spoke of the premonition of what had to come next.
"Good," Aramis replied and rounded the bench, taking a seat beside the boy.
Athos took the seat abandoned by Marie next to Porthos, grabbing a cup and filling it with wine. He didn't drink but held it between his hands, looking at Luc. "Please, tell us what happened after we left Douai."
Luc settled his eyes on his hands and started reporting in a low voice. "After you were gone, we worked hard to get the damage repaired, the courtyard cleaned, everything back to how it was before. Even Froilán and Yvette helped."
The Musketeers heard how the boy's voice caught on the names of the youngest of the children, but they didn't react to it, just waited for Luc to continue.
"Two days-, no, three. Three days after you had departed, Marie and I went to collect herbs before dawn. Brother Jacques sent us. He knew how good Marie was with everything you'd taught her." A short glance at Aramis, then his eyes returned to the tabletop.
"You went to collect herbs before sunrise?" Porthos asked, incredulously. "Why?"
"Because," Aramis replied before Luc could answer, "there are some herbs that need to be collected before the sun is up, with the dew still fresh They are only good for use if they are cut at dawn. I presume Brother Jacques sent you for St. John's wort and French meadow-rue?"
Luc nodded. "He woke us shortly after matins and we left when it was still dark. Marie knows where the best St. John's wort grows, but it's about half an hour walk from the abbey."
Aramis nodded. He knew all the places around the abbey where one could find the best herbs and plants.
"First we cut St. John's wort at the small creek, with the first light of dawn, and then we looked for the French meadow-rue. We had enough of everything even before the sun was up behind the hills and so we went back shortly after lauds. When the abbey's wall came into view I had the feeling something was wrong, though I couldn't make out what. Maybe it was too quiet or... I don't know. The gate was open, which was unusual for the early hour, but not necessarily alarming. Maybe pilgrims had arrived or someone from the village. I asked Marie to hide and wait for me and instead of using the gate I went in through the tunnel." Luc looked up to see if the Musketeers remembered the secret entrance he referred to. "I didn't see anyone, not until I came to the courtyard. Brother Alfrid lay under the archway, in a pool of blood." Luc's voice broke and he swallowed hard for a couple of times.
Aramis put a hand on the boy's arm, squeezing it lightly. "You're doing well."
Luc grabbed for his cup and took a few gulps of water, setting the cup back to the table afterwards, his hands remaining wrapped around it. The silence stretched while he stared at his hands.
When Luc showed not the slightest inclination to continue with his report, Aramis grabbed for his arm again. "Luc, what happened after you found Brother Alfrid?"
A slight tremor ran through the boy's body and he took a deep breath. Eyes still glued to his hands which now played with the cup, he continued. "While I still wondered what I should do, run to Brother Alfrid to see if he was still alive or find the others, a man emerged from the main building. He had the hood of his cloak drawn over his head, but when he looked around I could see his face. It was the same man who killed the abbot. Who had come to the monastery a few days before with the Spanish. He has," Luc swallowed hard, "he has all these rings on his fingers, and, and - it was him, the same man. He looked around as if searching for something, before he walked away. He kicked at Brother Alfrid on his way out." Luc's voice had dropped to a whisper, making it hard to understand him. "Then he left through the gate. I ran back to the western wall with the small holes in it, where you can see the slope and parts of the bridge. He must've left his horse outside because a minute or so later I saw him riding away." Luc paused again, but before anyone could say or ask something, he carried on. "I waited for, I don't know, five minutes or so. Then I ran down to the gate and closed it and looked after Brother Alfrid. He," Luc shook his head, covering his mouth with both hands as if trying to keep the words inside.
Aramis' hand moved upwards until it rested around the youngster's nape. Lightly, his thumb started caressing the smooth skin just underneath the boy's ear. It was enough to calm Luc to the point that he could go on with his account.
His hands returned to the cup on the table. "I went to the chapel where I thought the brothers must have gathered for lauds." Again he broke off, shaking his head, and this time a few tears spilled, suddenly and unwanted. "He had killed them all. I don't know, shot them or stabbed them in the back while they prayed. They..." Luc trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. Shamefacedly he wiped away the few tears that had managed to find their way down the dirt-covered cheeks.
Aramis leaned back on the bench, raking his fingers through his hair. Dread pooled in his stomach; he didn't want to hear more. He didn't want Luc to have to recount what must come next. He didn't want him having to remember what scenes must have unfolded in front of his eyes. He didn't want to hear it, but he knew there was no way around it. Aramis' gaze came to rest on Porthos opposite him, and there was a warmth and empathy in his brother's eyes he hadn't seen for years. Most certainly not seen since he had been reunited with the Musketeers a few weeks ago. Again at last, the sole presence of Porthos was once more the tower of strength, the support and aid that had carried Aramis through thick and thin, for years and years, and Aramis thanked him with a tiny nod and a small smile.
Athos watched Aramis, leaving the decision to him whether they should prompt the boy to tell more or not.
With a voice scratchy with emotion, Aramis finally asked, "What happened next? What-" He had to swallow. "Where were the children?"
Luc took two deep breaths and raised his head, staring at the space between Athos and Porthos on the wall behind them. Then, as if wanting to get over with it as quickly as possible, he sputtered, "I was there for I don't know how long, my legs wouldn't move. But suddenly I remembered that... I thought I'd best look into the dormitory first, maybe he had them pinioned and imprisoned and... I... I found them in the... They were in their beds, all of them. Only Adele had been up already, she had fetched washing water." Two quick, shallow breaths and the fruitless effort to swallow the lump in his throat. "She lay on the floor beside the wash stand. Her throat was cut," he whispered, turning his head and looking at Aramis, eyes blown wide.
Aramis put his arm around the boy's shoulder, pulling him over and holding him tight. Luc didn't cry, but Aramis could feel the tremors running through the thin body, and he pressed the boy's head even closer to his chest.
None of the Musketeers spoke but they shared glances, all thinking the same. It was one thing to kill generals and common soldiers, to attack Musketeers and to smuggle gunpowder behind enemy lines. It was a nefarious crime to kill innocent men of God. But slaughtering children spoke of an abysmal malice and coldness none of them had ever experienced before. It was such an atrocious act of inhumanness it made them feel sick to the core.
"No matter how long it takes me to find this man, he will pay for his crimes," Aramis rasped. "Even if it leads me to the gates of Hell."
"He's already dead," Porthos stated in a flat tone. "He just doesn't know yet."
Athos only nodded. He wondered what monster had crossed their path back there at the monastery, and if they had unleashed its fury when they had thwarted its plans. Maybe the man had relied on the fact that Marie and Luc would come to Paris and tell the Musketeers what had happened. Maybe this was a message he had sent them specifically. See what you have evoked...