This story is set shortly after Friends and Enemies. I am new to this fandom although not to writing fan fiction. I haven't seen all the episodes of The Musketeers yet nor have I had the chance to read many of the stories. Hopefully this particular plotline hasn't been done before. After suffering with writer's block for months it is wonderful to find a new source of inspiration.
Vengeance is Mine
Chapter One
Athos knocked once before entering Treville's study. The Captain was sitting behind his desk, a sheet of parchment held loosely between thumb and forefinger. Shadows mantled the room. It was past time for the candles to be lit yet no effort had been made to drive away the gathering darkness.
"You asked to see me, Captain?" Athos noted the slumped shoulders and deep lines furrowing Treville's brow. He waited for a response until the prolonged silence became uncomfortable. "Is something wrong?"
Treville looked at him for the first time, appearing almost startled to find that he wasn't alone. "Read this."
Athos took the paper and walked closer to the window to catch the fading light. He quickly scanned the words, caught his breath and read a second time. When he'd finished he ignored protocol and sat heavily in the nearest chair. "Does he know?" Immediately he shook his head and answered his own question. "You haven't told him. He wouldn't be downstairs sparring with d'Artagnan if you had. He'd be looking for someone to kill."
"It might be better to burn the letter and say nothing." Treville poured brandy into two glasses.
"Aramis would never forgive us." Athos drank deeply even though he knew the fiery liquor would do nothing to blunt the edge of his mingled sorrow and anger. It would take far more than one glass to grant him the oblivion he craved. "Let me tell him."
"I'm his captain. It's my duty," Treville responded without any enthusiasm.
"I'm his friend. It will be better coming from me."
"Don't let him do anything foolish," Treville warned.
Athos' smile was as bleak as his mood. "He will undoubtedly do something extremely foolish but Porthos and I will be there to stop him doing anything fatal."
"And d'Artagnan?"
Athos considered that. "He's hot-headed and recklessly brave. Since he arrived in Paris he's stuck with us like a lost puppy. I don't think we'll be able to stop him."
"Take care of our young Gascon, Athos. He will make a fine musketeer one day, if he lives long enough to be commissioned."
Athos nodded curtly, rolled up the parchment and slid it inside his leather jacket for safekeeping. When he stepped outside he lingered on the balcony watching his friends in the yard below. Aramis and d'Artagnan continued to practice their swordsmanship while Porthos sat on a bench calling out encouraging comments.
D'Artagnan was holding his own against the more experienced soldier although he was breathing heavily. He fought with passion causing Athos to wish fleetingly that he could still find joy in the swordplay that had become instead a brutal necessity. He could see the raw talent that, with time and nurturing, would make d'Artagnan almost invincible.
"Of course what I really wanted to do was enter the Church," Aramis said.
D'Artagnan's feet faltered and he had to step back hurriedly to parry a sudden flurry of strokes. "You? All you've done since I met you is drink, fight and fornicate and now you tell me you wanted to be a priest?"
"Not a priest," Aramis said, pressing his advantage. "Priests don't have any fun." His sword moved with elegance and speed causing his opponent to continue to retreat.
"What did I tell you?" Porthos called.
After disengaging d'Artagnan looked questioningly at the older man. He thought for a minute before groaning. "Don't let yourself be distracted." He glowered at Aramis. "You lied to throw me off balance."
"It's no lie," Athos said before walking down to join his comrades. ""You wouldn't think it to look at him but Aramis is deeply religious."
Aramis grinned and slid the sword back into its scabbard. "I'm also thirsty. Let us find a tavern. Porthos can pay. He won at cards last night."
"Did you cheat," d'Artagnan asked Porthos.
"Yes," he admitted cheerfully. "And this time I didn't get caught."
Immediately after opening the tavern door Aramis' senses were overwhelmed. He entered the crowded room wearing a broad grin, happy to be free of the pretension and politics of the Court. The smell of spilled ale, cheap wine and unwashed bodies was preferable to the overpowering perfumes used by the nobility to mask their natural odors.
The buzz of conversation and laughter died down while the patrons assessed the newcomers for potential threats. One man sidled toward the rear door, trying to make himself inconspicuous. A tavern wench approached Aramis, swaying her hips and displaying a smile that was intended to be inviting. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close.
"Want some company, handsome?" she asked.
She was a red-head, plump and pretty. Aramis had no doubt that she was also pox-ridden but he still returned her smile. "Maybe later. My friends and I are thirsty. Bring us some ale."
"You're not tempted, are you?" Porthos asked after the girl had left them.
"Not at all. However, it pays to remember, my good Porthos, that even whores have feelings."
"Huh," Porthos grunted. "I'll get us a table." After scanning the room he went to intimidate a group of merchants into relinquishing their table. It didn't take much, involving nothing more than standing beside them with his hand on his sword.
Aramis sat and stretched lazily. "It's getting boring around here. We haven't had a fight with the Red Guard for weeks and no-one's trying to kill us or the king."
"I'm sure Captain Treville can find you something to do," Porthos said. "What do you think, Athos?"
Aramis had often struggled to tell what Athos was thinking during those times when Athos was sober. He was startled to see uncertainty on his friend's face. A feeling of foreboding settled over him like a shroud. "Athos?"
"I need to speak to Aramis. Will you two excuse us?"
Aramis clamped a hand on Porthos' arm. "You don't need to leave and neither does d'Artagnan."
"It would be better…" Athos began.
"They stay," Aramis said forcefully. "What's wrong?"
Athos bowed his head, breaking eye contact. The red-head brought four pots of ale. Athos grabbed one and drained it. After swiping his hand across his mouth he gave a deep sigh. "It's about Adele."
"What about her," Aramis asked.
"When did you last see her?"
"The day we met d'Artagnan. I had to leave through her window because the Cardinal arrived unexpectedly. As I recall you and Porthos found that very amusing. Why?"
"She left Paris and…" Athos' voice trailed away.
"She went to the Cardinal's country estate," Aramis said without his usual confidence. He'd never been sure if that was the truth and the return of his pistol had set off alarm bells.
"Adele didn't make it that far," Athos said quietly.
Aramis found that he was standing although he didn't remember moving. His heart hammered. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"She's dead. I'm sorry, Aramis."
He stared at his friend before shaking his head. "You're wrong." He turned to leave while struggling to breathe through the weight that had settled on his chest.
"Where are you going?" Athos was also on his feet and barring the way to the door.
"Her house."
Athos pulled a letter from his jacket and held it out. "She's gone, Aramis."
He couldn't gather his wits enough to read and part of him didn't want to. His only wish was to hold onto the belief that he would see her again even if it was just an illusion. He crumpled up the paper and dropped it on the table. "How did she die?"
"A single shot to the back of the head. It was an execution."
Mind-numbing grief drowned under an onslaught of murderous fury. "Richelieu!" He pushed past Athos with only one aim in mind.
"Where's he going?" Porthos asked.
"I fear he's gone to kill the Cardinal," Athos said. "I think we'd better go and stop him."
Tbc
