I have been suffering from major writer's block when it comes to my two longer stories so I thought I would go back and write some missing scenes to see if that will cure the problem. This one is set in episode 1.1 and is unashamedly Athos centric.

Missing Pieces

Chapter One

"I'm not the man you're looking for." Athos turned away from d'Artagnan and marched out of the garrison flanked by two Red Guards and followed by Treville and a third guard. He was relieved that the Captain had chosen to accompany them. It wasn't often that the Red Guard had a Musketeer in their clutches and he had no doubt they would have taken the opportunity to inflict some damage if not for Treville's presence.

As they traversed the streets he tuned out the curious stares of the townsfolk and reflected upon the bizarre turn the day had taken. First there was the disappearance of Cornet and his troop. Under any circumstances that was deeply concerning. Next was the precipitous arrival of the young Gascon, d'Artagnan. At first Athos had treated his challenge as an unwelcome joke. That was until he faced the raw talent in the boy. That talent had been somewhat compromised by heightened emotions. Still, that was understandable if his father had recently been murdered. Despite that d'Artagnan had shown a great deal of honour and maturity. He could have taken his revenge from the shadows. Instead he had chosen to face Athos in a duel that he must have known he would lose.

Which thought brought him to his present predicament. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to blacken his name. Worse was the stain on the honour and integrity of the Musketeers. When they arrived at the Palace Treville left to report to the King. That left the Red Guard free to taunt him and deliver a few blows to his back and sides. He bore it stoically, recognising his helplessness yet refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing fear. Eventually they got bored and contented themselves with verbal abuse. When one suggested removing his pauldron he raised an eyebrow and stared at them with cold fury.

"It'll be stripped from him soon enough when he's convicted," the leader of his guards said, covering his unease with false bravado.

Athos swallowed down his apprehension and continued to stare at the men with unnerving intensity until they backed down.

"The King's ready for him," one of the guards at the door to the throne room announced.

Athos straightened his back and walked in with his head held high. The King and Queen were sitting on their thrones with the Cardinal standing to the King's left. Athos' gaze swept over the waiting courtiers, settling for a moment on Aramis and Porthos. He inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement of their supportive presence.

When the undercurrent of talk died down the Cardinal took his place at the front of the room. His expression was predatory mixed with self-satisfaction. Athos' heart sank. Richelieu's hatred of the Musketeers was legendary and this was a heaven sent opportunity to damage the regiment.

"This man," Richelieu said advancing on Athos with his finger pointed straight at him. "Stands accused of highway robbery, assault and murder."

The words buzzed around Athos' head as he tried to process them. The crimes, if proven, carried the death penalty and he had no confidence that this would be anything more than a mockery of a trial.

He heard the Captain proclaiming his innocence and felt sick when he saw the smug look on the Cardinal's face. Witnesses were produced. The first spoke of the murder of a man called Alexander d'Artagnan, a name which caused Athos to look up in surprise. Twice he proclaimed his innocence and twice his words were ignored. He was not invited to testify or produce witnesses of his own. Judgement was passed with indecent haste and he found himself sentenced to die. Stunned he turned his gaze to his two friends who looked equally horrified.

Hands descended onto his shoulders and he was pulled back and to the side so that the King and Queen could leave the room. He was hustled out immediately after, manhandled down the stairs and pulled to a halt in the courtyard.

"What did I tell you, Musketeer scum?" the Red Guard captain said. "Now you're nothing more than a condemned prisoner. Remove his pauldron. He isn't fit to wear the King's insignia."

Athos licked his lips while he debated resisting but a pistol pressed into the small of his back discouraged him from moving. The pauldron was unbuckled from his doublet and pulled down his arm.

"Take care of it," he said.

"We'll take that." Aramis walked into his field of vision with Porthos by his side. The marksman held out a hand while Porthos looked intimidating.

Athos flashed them a wan smile as the pauldron was handed over to Aramis' safekeeping.

"Courage, brother." Aramis' hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. "We will find a way to clear your name."

"You don't have much time."

"Have faith."

He nodded, feeling bereft when his brothers turned to leave. His arms were pulled behind his back and he felt rope encircling his wrists. The urge to struggle was almost overwhelming but he reined in his emotions, keeping his head held high. Within minutes he had been loaded into a cart and was on his way to the Chatelet prison. As they approached the imposing edifice Athos could smell the odour of drying blood from the nearby slaughterhouses coupled with the almost overpowering reek of effluent from the sewers as it entered the Seine.

The cart trundled through the archway where a barred gate was unlocked for them. He twisted his head around to look behind him, catching what was certain to be his last glimpse of freedom. He had no doubt that his friends would do everything possible to disprove his guilt but it was already early afternoon and he was sentenced to die at dawn the next day. It gave them almost no time to find and present evidence in his favour. Would the King even listen if they did uncover anything? Richelieu had reminded Louis that his judgement was infallible. How would the King take to being proved wrong?

They came to a standstill and he was ordered to get down. When he was led down some steps into a courtyard all he could hear were the shouts and jeers of the other prisoners who were delighted to see a Musketeer fall so low. He stared straight ahead and refused to acknowledge the cruel words that battered him from every direction. The rope binding his wrists was cut and replaced with shackles and chains. He was taken to a cold dank cell and chained to the floor. His only consolation was that he was alone. If he had been incarcerated with other prisoners he doubted that he would survive long enough to be shot at dawn.

He huddled close to the bars reflecting on the irony of the situation. For five years he had lived in a state of overwhelming guilt. Every night he'd tried to drown out the voices in his head with copious amounts of wine. He'd gone into every fight determined to prevail but resigned to the inescapable fact that one day his luck would run out. Luck! That was a laughable concept.

He'd believed himself to be the luckiest man in the world when he met Anne and she consented to be his wife. His happiness had lasted one summer. It had been a time when he'd allowed his inbred barriers to shatter. He'd let her behind his walls and she had repaid him by murdering his brother.

Where did his guilt lie? In failing to see what she was? He had been blinded by her beauty and passion. He'd discounted Catherine's shrewish comments about Anne only marrying him for money and position. Perhaps his guilt was in his failure to save Thomas's life. Anne had accused his little brother of trying to force her but how could he believe that of his beloved sibling? He was the elder brother. Thomas had been his responsibility and he had let him down.

His musings were interrupted by a priest who had been sent to offer him comfort. Unbidden he said, "There was a woman." A woman he had loved more than life. He could see her clearly standing in the field waiting for him. He had picked her favourite flower, a forget-me-not. "I killed her."

There was a look of horrified surprise on the priest's face. Suddenly he couldn't stand the prospect of forgiveness. He sent the priest away and sank back into his memories. Anne's laughter had changed to pleading while she stood before him covered in Thomas's blood. Without any trial he had condemned her to death. Now he was the one facing the executioner and it felt surprisingly liberating. He had ordered her to be hanged then, in his cowardice, he'd ridden away before the deed was completed. For months his dreams had been haunted by her dead face, beautiful green eyes open in reproach.

The jailor brought him a bowl of unidentifiable slop which he ignored. In his mind he was back in their bedroom making love while a warm breeze stirred the curtains. Then they were out in the grounds of the estate where she teasingly ran away from him. When he caught her she rewarded him with a kiss and then with something far more intimate. His final memory before sleep claimed him was of the tree, the massive oak from which she'd dangled, taking her last choking breath before death claimed her.

He slept for a while, waking to find everything was quiet. There was no window in his cell so it was impossible to gauge the passage of time. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. The air was damp and cold and he pitied those poor souls who were condemned to rot here. He was dozing when they came for him. He was taken to the yard and chained to the wall. Did they really think he would try to escape his fate? He watched the soldiers readying their weapons, anxious now to have the deed done. He tilted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes, waiting for the tearing pain and the final release from his torment. Nothing happened. Incensed, he opened his eyes to find them still fussing with the rifles.

"Shoot, damn you!"

Then, suddenly, Aramis was there waving a piece of parchment and declaring that he had been pardoned. He sagged against the chains, all the nervous energy that had been running through his body draining away in a few seconds. His knees felt weak and he leaned on Porthos when the big man came to free him. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle and he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him with malice in their heart. He looked up but the window overlooking the courtyard was empty. He shook his head, attributing the feeling to his overstressed nerves.

Soon enough he was able to walk and there, to his astonishment, was young d'Artagnan, grinning at him. How he had been saved was a mystery but clearly this boy had played a part. He walked up the stairs and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.

With brisk efficiency Aramis arranged for his shackles to be removed. He followed them out to the forecourt where four horses were waiting.

"Treville wants to see you," Aramis said.

Athos climbed into the saddle and clung onto the reins. He felt weak and disorientated but that wasn't something he was willing to share with the others. When they arrived back at the garrison he handed his mount over to a stable boy and climbed the stairs to Treville's office. After knocking briefly he entered the room and was gratified to see the relieved smile that graced the Captain's face.

"It's good to see you, Athos. Sit down."

Athos sat and laced his fingers together to stop his hands from trembling. "How did you arrange for my release?"

"For that you can thank Aramis, Porthos and that young Gascon." Treville's expression turned sat. "Cornet and his troop are dead."

"Dead?" It was unfathomable. "All of them?" An entire troop wiped out. Men he had served with for years who would never come home.

"They were ambushed by a renegade group of Red Guard. They were stripped of their uniforms." Treville's rising anger was a living thing filling the room.

"Why?"

"So that their assailants could masquerade as Musketeers."

Athos' tired brain was having trouble following the conversation. "Why would they do that and why single me out?"

"We have no idea. Unfortunately, their leader was killed. But there is one of the men in jail and he will be questioned in the morning. Maybe we will find out something more then." Treville stood up and rounded the desk to stand in front of Athos. "You have had quite an ordeal. You are excused duties for the day. Go and get some rest."

Athos nodded and stood up. He wasn't surprised to find his friends waiting for him outside Treville's door. What was surprising was that d'Artagnan was still with them.

"What are you goin' to do now?" Porthos asked.

Athos considered that. "I'm going to drink."

"It's only mid-morning," d'Artagnan said.

"Your point?" He led the way down the stairs. "Are you joining me?"

"Sadly we have our duties to attend to but we will find you later. Where are you going?" Aramis asked.

"The Wren." He stopped and looked quizzically at the Gascon. "It's not that I'm ungrateful but why did you help me?"

"I wanted revenge on the man who killed my father. I was misled into thinking that man was you. When Aramis and Porthos came seeking my help how could I turn them away?"

"You are full of surprises. Come, you have no duties. Let me buy you some wine. It is a poor enough recompense for my life."

"Very well. If you insist."

Porthos clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "Don't try to keep up with him. He'll drink you under the table."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Come then, d'Artagnan. Gentlemen, we will see you later."

By the time Aramis and Porthos joined them Athos was well into his third bottle of wine. He had already successfully found out all about d'Artagnan's history and the young man had even confessed his desire to become a Musketeer. His friends, knowing his preference to drink alone, took a separate table and beckoned d'Artagnan over to join them. Athos settled in for some serious drinking, his thoughts once again consumed by the most perfect summer of his life. He was vaguely aware of Aramis and d'Artagnan leaving but he knew he wasn't truly alone. Porthos would stay to watch over him and he could rely on his friend to get him home. Not that he was in any hurry. He picked up the fourth bottle of wine and silently saluted lady luck who apparently had not yet chosen to desert him.

The End