It wasn't the best of days for the Musketeers.
A group of thieves had been wreaking havoc throughout Paris and after spending two weeks hunting then down and setting a trap, they had finally caught them. However, even the best laid plans - or traps - can go awry.
The thieves were a mixed band of varying ages and numbered eight. The Musketeers were down the the last one, the leader. The other seven were either tied up or unconscious, but the leader had taken off running through a nearby field. Thanks to Porthos coming up with the idea of leading them out of Paris and luring them into trying to rob a carriage. Athos and Aramis had been in the carriage, Porthos had been driving and D'Artagnan had lagged behind, riding his own horse.
The Thieves had attacked, as planned. The Musketeers had taken most of them out, but the leader had scattered the horses, which left them all on foot.
Athos and Aramis ran at a pace together, behind Porthos who was behind D'Artagnan. The youngest Musketeer steadily gaining on the thief.
Aramis was grinning as he commented, "D'Artagnan runs like the wind."
"That he does," Athos allowed, then fell silent, needing his breath to keep running.
It Porthos who noticed the thief was heading straight for the woods where they could easily lose him. He could see D'Artagnan veering to the left and he moved to follow, signaling Athos and Aramis to go right. The plan being to circle around the thief and catch him between them. Not even bothering to glance behind him, because he knew Aramis and Athos would get his message, Porthos sped up to close the gap between himself and D'Artagnan.
The thief suddenly stumbled, hitting the ground and rolling to his feet before jumping up and changing course. D'Artagnan had gotten close enough to tackle him and in an impressive flying leap, he took the thief to the ground.
Porthos reached them in time to grab the thief by the back of his shirt and haul him to his feet. "Nicely done, whelp," he complimented D'Artagnan.
"Thanks, I think," the young Musketeer replied, rising to his feet and brushing dirt off his sleeves. He saw Athos and Aramis coming towards them, walking now. Aramis swept his had off his head and used it to wave at them as if cheering them on. D'Artagnan offered an over dramatic bow in response.
"Let's go," Porthos said, chuckling at the antics as he shoved the thief in front of him. It was going to be a long walk to find the horses, if the carriage wasn't already halfway back to Paris already. D'Artagnan fell into step beside him and they headed back the way they'd come only for the ground to suddenly disappear beneath their feet.
D'Artagnan bit back a cry as he felt himself falling. Before he could even get his bearings he hit the ground hard, the breath rushing out of his lungs as blackness flickered over him.
Porthos grunted as he hit the ground, losing hold of the thief and not really caring as pain burst throughout his body and his lungs froze up, leaving him gasping for breath.
"NO!" Aramis shouted, as he watched his friends disappear. He glanced over at Athos, who's face mirrored the same fears, and they both took off running.
"Stop!" Athos hissed, as they neared the place where Porthos and D'Artagnan had vanished. They could not risk falling in themselves. So he crept forward slowly and without warning the gaping hole appeared.
Aramis joined Athos, both falling to their knees. "Sink hole," he whispered, feeling ill when he saw the bodies crumpled at the bottom. He felt immense relief when D'Artagnan began to stir, the boy rolling to his side and sitting up slowly. "Are you allright?" Aramis called down.
D'Artagnan looked startled, gazing around for a minute before realizing the shout had come from above him. He looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun for a moment, before replying, "I think so." Suddenly remembering he wasn't alone, he scrambled over to Porthos. Before he could touch him, the big man bolted upright.
"When I catch whoever dug this hole, I'm going to crush them!" Porthos growled. He rubbed a hand over his head, wincing a bit, then he focused his attention on D'Artagnan. "You okay?" he asked, big hands moving over the boy.
"More or less." D'Artagnan allowed his friend to draw him into a bear hug, before turning to where the thief lay. He made a face upon seeing the man's neck twisted at an odd angle. No need to check him any further. "He's dead," D'Artagnan announced.
Porthos shrugged. "No big loss. I care more about finding a way out of here."
Athos stretched out on his stomach and reached a hand down as Porthos stood up and reached up towards him. They both cursed. "Too far." There was more than two body lengths between them.
"Can you boost me?" D'Artagnan asked Porthos. "I think I can reach far enough for Athos and Aramis to pull me out."
"I can do that," Porthos allowed, putting words to actions as he braced himself against the dirt wall, bending his knees and getting his balance, before lacing his fingers together. He wanted to get the boy out of here as soon as possible, and being able to do something productive was helping him to focus. Once D'Artagnan was safely out, Porthos would worry about himself. "Ready?" he asked.
D'Artagnan nodded, moving into place. He put his foot into the cup of Porthos' hands, laid his hands on the broad shoulders and nodded. Moving as one, Porthos lifted as D'Artagnan surged upwards and he didn't even worry that the others would grab him. He just reached overhead as Porthos' mighty muscles sent him skyward. A moment later hands gripped his and D'Artagnan found himself topside.
Porthos clapped from below, pleased that D'Artagnan was free. "Any idea how to get me out?" he asked, not that he was overly worried. He knew his friends wouldn't rest until he was free as well.
"I have an idea," D'Artagnan replied, pushing to his feet only to stumble.
"Whoa...are you allright?" Athos asked, as he grabbed D'Artagnan by the arm to steady him. He saw the boy go pale and it was obvious he was in pain. "What's wrong?"
D'Artagnan couldn't answer at the moment, he was too busy biting his lip to hold back a whimper. And it didn't help that the ground seemed to be tilting beneath him and he felt rather like he was falling again. He heard Athos calling his name and felt hands on his face and the touch grounded him. Taking a deep breath, D'Artagnan worked through the pain and was finally able to respond. "I...I'm fine," he whispered. "Just turned my ankle a bit."
Athos smacked him on the back of the head, even as Aramis forced him to sit on the ground and put his head down. "Why didn't you say something?"
"I didn't realize," D'Artagnan defended himself, his voice muffled as his head was still down.
"What's going on?" Porthos called out from the pit. "Hey! Is D'Artagnan all right?"
Athos moved back to the edge and peered down. "Twisted his ankle, apparently. He'll be allright." At least Athos hoped so. He looked at Aramis who was moving his hands over the injured limb through his boot, causing the young Gascon to gasp in pain.
Aramis looked grim. "Sorry about that," he apologized, for he disliked causing pain. "I needed to make sure it wasn't broken."
"It's not!" D'Artagnan huffed. He attempted to rise but Aramis pushed him back down. "We have to get Porthos out of the pit," D'Artagnan protested.
"You can tell us your plan while sitting," Aramis insisted.
Huffing, D'Artagnan obliged. "I brought rope with me," he explained.
Athos moved to stand before him, eyeing him from head to toe. "And just where are you hiding this rope?" he queried.
"On my horse," D'Artagnan replied, his tone conveying the fact he thought it was a stupid question. The pain from his ankle was making him a bit snippy.
"The horses were scattered," Athos reminded him.
D'Artagnan nodded, only to cup his hands around his mouth before releasing an ear-splitting whistle. He repeated it twice.
Aramis clapped both hands over his ears, glaring at the boy. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Calling my horse." Again, D'Artagnan could not hide the fact he thought it a stupid question.
"What's going on?" Porthos called from the hole, hating the fact that he was blind to what was happening above. He trusted the others to get him out, but it made him half crazy that he couldn't do anything to get out on his own. Not that he hadn't been trying. But the walls of the hole were too crumbly and his attempts to climb had met with failure, leaving him covered in dirt and frustrated.
Before Athos could explain, the sound of thundering hooves could be heard and the trio above ground all watched as D'Artagnan's man galloped directly to him. She slowed before reaching him and walked over, bending her head to nudge at him as if understanding he was injured.
D'Artagnan pointed to his saddle bag. "The rope is in there. Tie one end off to the saddle, I'll mount and guide her back." As he spoke, D'Artagnan was already rising to his feet. But he stumbled the moment he tried to put weight on his bad ankle.
"Easy," Athos chided, grabbing his arm to steady him.
"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Porthos called out. He heard the sound of galloping hooves and he hoped that meant rescue was coming soon.
Athos shook a finger at D'Artagnan. "Don't move," he ordered, making sure the boy obeyed him before moving to the pit and glancing down. "D'Artagnan called his horse back and he has rope. We're tying it now and you'll be out in a minute."
Relief flooded through Porthos. "I'm ready," he shouted up.
"Here's the rope," Aramis called, tossing the coiled end to Athos. He had tied off the other end to the saddle horn as D'Artagnan had bid and now they were ready to bring Porthos back up.
"Catch," Athos called down, as he unraveled the free end of the sturdy hemp.
D'Artagnan, ignoring Athos' order, hobbled over to his horse. He paused a moment, trying to figure out how he was going to mount with his bad ankle.
Only for Aramis to move into place next to the stirrup. He squatted and made a cup of his hands on his thigh. "Place your knee here and I'll boost you," he said.
"Thanks." Since it was his left ankle that was injured, this would work. Doing as he was bid, D'Artagnan then reached for the pommel and working together, he pulled up as Aramis lifted and a moment later he was seated. He had to breathe through a moment of pain and nausea, feeling the other man patting his back as he did so. But when Athos called out that Porthos was ready, D'Artagnan pulled himself together and nudged his mare into backing up slowly.
"Keep going," Athos called out, from where he was holding on to the rope near the pit and gazing down. "Almost there!"
Aramis joined him and a moment later they were pulling Porthos over the rim, the three of them resting on their knees but grinning in triumph.
Untying the rope from the saddle, D'Artagnan soon joined them, although hs stayed mounted. "You allright?" he asked Porthos.
"Thanks to you," the big man replied. "I owe you a drink when we get back." He wasn't surprised that D'Artagnan had come up with the plan. The lad was very clever.
"Speaking of getting back," D'Artagnan countered. "I'll go round up the horses. Since they were pulling the carriage they can't have gone far." Expecting a protest of some kind, D'Artagnan fended it off by wheeling about and riding off before anyone could speak.
He was back sooner than expected, looking pale as he guided the horses and carriage back to his friends. Porthos untethered them and went off to collect the two raiders who were still alive. They would have to face sentencing by the King for their crimes.
Aramis moved to D'Artagnan. "How's the ankle?"
"It's fine," D'Artagnan replied, brushing off the concern. He knew Aramis didn't believe him, but there was no point in admitting that it hurt like a bastard when there was nothing they could do about it until they returned. So he was relieved when Aramis simply nodded, letting him be.
It took a few hours to return, with Porthos driving and Aramis beside him, Athos inside the carriage with their prisoners. Once they reached the Garrison, Treville met them so Athos could quickly fill him in. He sent another Musketeer to take the prisoners to the Chatelet, then turned to watch as his returning team moved to fuss over D'Artagnan.
The boy had swung a leg over the front of his saddle and was about to slide down, only to find two sets of arms there to guide him down and support him. "I'm fine," D'Artagnan insisted, but he looked pale and he was visibly trembling.
"Bring him to my room," Aramis ordered.
"On it," Porthos replied, even as he swept D'Artagnan into his arms.
The boy gasped in surprise, and maybe a bit of pain, before loudly protesting, "Put me down! Porthos! Put me down, now!"
But Porthos ignored his pleas, instead striding off to Aramis' room with Athos in tow.
Aramis turned to Treville. "Could you have a bucket of water and some bandages sent to my room? And make sure the water is as cold as it can be, if you would."
"What happened to D'Artagnan?" Treville asked, even as he nodded to the requests.
"He and Porthos chased after the leader, who's dead by the way," Aramis explained. "You should see D'Artagnan run. Fast as the wind, he is. Anyway, they caught the leader but they fell into a sink hole and D'Artagnan twisted his ankle. Didn't slow him down much though. Porthos heaved him out of the hole and the boy was smart enough to bring a rope with him and alls well that ends well." Aramis ended his story with a bit of a flourish.
Treville smiled. "Other than the twisted ankle," he pointed out. "But he'll be all right?"
Aramis nodded. "I believe so. It's not broken, but keeping D'Artagnan off his feet for a week or two is going to test the lot of us."
"Of that I'm sure," Treville allowed. "Go tend to the boy, I'll have the water and bandages brought to you immediately."
"Thank you." Aramis nodded and headed off.
The Musketeers words proved to be true. D'Artagnan refused to stay put and rest his ankle. Every time they left him alone, or even turned their backs, he was off the bed and hobbling about. Which he suffered for later. It to the point where Athos felt the need to threaten him.
Ignoring D'Artagnan's glare at the lot of them, Athos stood over him where he was stretched out on the bed and stated, "If you get up again, before Aramis allows it, I will tie you to this bed! Do you undertand me?"
"You wouldn't dare?" D'Artagnan shot back, ignoring the cold steel of the other man's tone. Athos had his serious face on as well, but D'Artagnan paid it no heed.
"Try me," Athos shot back, his own glare pulverizing D'Artagnan's attempt. "One foot off this bed and you'll be strapped to it."
Porthos held up a handful of cloth strips. "Got the ties all ready," he said, grinning.
Which gave D'Artagnan pause. "That's not fair," he announced, his glare melting into a pout that made him look all of about fourteen years old. Which was not helping his cause any. Smacking his hands against the mattress he announced, "I'm bored! I swear if I have to just lay here I'll die of boredom!"
"Read the books I gave you," Athos countered, not giving in an inch. Although he had to clench his hands into fists at his side to stop the temptation to smooth down D'Artagnan's hair. The boy had been running his fingers through it in frustration and the long strands were wild about his face, adding to his youthfulness.
"I've read them already." D'Artagnan's puppy dog eyes were in full force. "Just let me sit at the table outside and watch you practice. I won't move from there, I swear."
Athos shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and giving D'Artagnan his best stern look. "Had you not disobeyed me these past few days, I might have allowed it. But you've made your injury worse as it is. So you stay put. That is an order."
He might have said more but a messenger knocked and announced that Treville needed them to go on a short mission. They were to leave immediately.
"Stay put," Athos warned D'Artagnan, when the boy looked ready to jump up and join them.
"Fine," D'Artagnan mumbled, being careful to hide the fingers he had crossed under the covers. He said goodbye to them all as they headed out, and managed to stay put until he heard the sound of galloping hooves. Waiting a bit longer, to be sure it was safe to move, D'Artagnan tossed the blanket aside and stood up.
His ankle was tightly wrapped and better than it had been, but he knew he'd been pushing his luck. So he hopped to the corner of the room where his boots were stashed and managed to pull both of them on, although Aramis no doubt would have slapped him for all his cursing. Strangely enough, his ankle felt more supported when he stood up. Still, he was careful to stay off it as much as he could. So it took what felt like hours to make his way to the table out doors.
D'Artagnan relished the fresh air and was happily cleaning tack at the table when his friends returned. He winced when he saw the expression on Athos' face as he neared him. "I've been good," he was quick to say. "Ask the Captain. I've been here the whole time you've been gone. Just sitting and enjoying the sunshine and cleaing tack."
"He's telling the truth," Treville offered from the railing above, although he looked and sounded amused.
"Be that as it may," Athos stated, as he swung off his horse. "You disobeyed a direct order, did you not?"
D'Artagnan bit his lip, his mind whirling for a way to explain his way out of the trouble he knew he was in. "I just...I needed-"
Athos cut him off. "Did you, or did you not, disobey my direct order?"
"I...um...I did," D'Artagnan allowed, because he knew that to lie would make it worse for him. But he had disobeyed so he would let Athos to yell at him as was his right, and then they could move on.
"Porthos." Athos' tone was clipped as he gestured to the big Musketeer.
Without warning, D'Artagnan found Porthos at his side, pulling him to his feet before swinging him up into his strong arms. "Hey!" he yelped, trying to push out of the other man's grasp, only to find himself trapped. "What are you doing? Porthos' put me down." Instead he found himself being carried back to his room, where he had been transferred to the day after their return. Aramis had felt he would rest more comfortably in his own space. But D'Artagnan felt extremely uncomfortable as he found himself placed on his bed and held there by Porthos' strong hands on his shoulders.
Athos entered right behind them. He grabbed the strips of cloth that Porthos had held up earlier that day and moved to the bed.
"No...no no no!" D'Artagnan realized his intent and struggled against Porthos' hold. Only for Aramis to join in and soon he found his wrists bound to the legs of the bed on either side. D'Artagnan pulled on the bindings but they held firm. "You can't do this!" he protested.
"I believe I just did," Athos drawled, moving to claim the only chair in the room. He pulled a small book from an inner pocket and opened it. Then he began to read.
It took a moment for D'Artagnan to realize what he was reading. Sonnets. Flowerly, boring Sonnets. Letting his head fall back onto the pillow, D'Artagnan stifled a groan. "I give up and give in," he conceded. "I promise I will stay put until you let me up. Just please...please...stop reading those sonnets."
But Athos ignored him and continued on. Aramis and Porthos chuckled for a moment before saying goodbye and taking their leave.
Which left D'Artagnan bound and cringing as Athos read on. He couldn't even cover his ears. He closed his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep to escape this particularly cruel band of torture and, to his surprise, he apparently did just that. When he opened his eyes again the room was in shadows, lit only by one flickering candle.
"Are you hungry?" Athos asked, from the chair he was still sitting in. "Aramis and Porthos will be back soon with supper."
"A bit," D'Artagnan allowed, as he made to sit up, only to be brought up short by his bindings. But he didn't protest them, he simply sighed and said, "I'm sorry."
Athos smiled as he rose to his feet and moved to the bed. "As you should be." He bent and cut the bindings, helping D'Artagnan to unwrap the ends from his wrists. He sat on the edge of the bed and the boy sat up and stared at him, his expression remourseful. "Let this be a lesson well learned. Yes?"
D'Artagnan nodded. He knew Athos was letting him off lightly. A smile tugging at his lips, he looked up under a fringe of dark hair. "I could have handled being bound, but you did me in with the sonnets."
"I remember you mentioned once how much you hate them since your mother made you read them," Athos allowed. "Seemed fitting to make this lesson sink in. But don't take this lightly, D'Artagnan. The lesson to learn is not to disobey orders. I give them for a reason."
"I know." D'Artagnan felt disappointed in himself for what he'd done. "I understand now."
Athos looked pleased. "I do what I do for your own good. You're young, D'Artagnan. You have much to learn. You're smart but take the time to think. That's a lesson we all need to keep learning."
D'Artagnan got it. "I will do my best."
"That's all I asked," Athos stated, looking proud.
Just then Porthos and Aramis entered, bearing bowls of stew and thick chunks of bread. Aramis also had a bottle of wine and they sat and ate and told stories until D'Artagnan felt himself drifting off again. He vaguely heard Aramis and Porthos take their leave but was surprised that Athos stayed. He thought perhaps he might be dreaming though, when he heard the other man humming softly before the humming turned into the words of a song. Athos had a pleasing voice, D'Artagnan decided, as he drifted off to sleep.
Athos continued to sing as he watched D'Artagnan sleep. The boy was young and strong-willed, but he was also smart and talented and Athos had no doubt that, someday, D'Artagnan truly would be 'The Greatest of them all'.
THE END