Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Musketeers.
Pairings: Athos/D'Artagnan/Porthos/Aramis
Warnings: Abuse, whipping, rape, slavery, underage (D'Artagnan is fifteen)
A/N: This is a prompt filled at
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Captured Hearts
They came during the winter, when few would question the disappearance of others, the iron door slams open and chains rattle as they're brought in, one by one they are unshackled and pushed into a cell. He's surprised when his door opens, even more surprised when a body is thrown in.
The child is small and thin, his whole body shakes, dark eyes red and wet stare frightfully at the shadows not knowing it would be the least of his worries, a crack of a whip and screaming had the child jumping and whimpering.
He could be no more than five years of age.
A babe in the jaws of Hell, and the Devil's hand around his neck.
"Enjoy your new cellmates" says the Slave Master, his laughter bouncing off the dirty walls as he leaves.
When the Slave Master's echoing footsteps fade away and the iron door closes with a slam does he stand from his corner, chains jingling as he moves towards the child curious, he doesn't know why they decided to put this child in here with him, he, unlike the others, is confined to solitaire.
The child shuffles back until his back hits the bars, trapped large dark eyes stare frightful up at him. He couches down so he doesn't tower over the boy, he leans and takes a sniff, he is greeted with a smell he recognized as something earthly, it is a surprisingly comforting scent.
"Hello" he says, voice raspy from disuse, ignoring the crying and pleas coming from the other cells, soon they will learn that tears are best left unshed and pleas will remain unanswered (if they're lucky).
"What's your name?" he asks.
"D-D-D'Artagnan" comes the response, voice low and frightened.
"I'm Porthos" he says, and tries for a smile, judging from D'Artagnan's look he doesn't succeed.
"Where's my Mama and Papa?" comes the question, and Porthos does not hesitant in answering.
"Dead" he says empathy having been lost to him long ago.
The child cries and cries until his tears are all dried up and he's curled up in the corner asleep, body demanding rest. In the other corner, Porthos sits and stares at the child.
If he is lucky, the child will not survive the winter, but Porthos knows there is no luck, no luck or hope. For now, the child is too young (though it will not be a problem if a buyer with a big sack of money and a taste for the young comes along) though that does not make him safe. D'Artagnan shivers, and Porthos takes the thin dirty blanket and wraps it around the child before lifting him in his arms and onto his lap.
In the dark, Porthos makes a promise.
10 years later
He's surrounded by screaming, yelling, and nameless faces; he cares not for them but for his opponent. His opponent towers him with his impressive height, body stacked with muscles and murder in his eyes.
"This should be fun" he thinks sarcastically as the man circles him.
His opponent lunges at him; the large man is slow in movement, depending on his strength to take down his opponents, he decides to use that to his advantage as he spins out the way. A punch is thrown his way, he grabs the fist before it hits his face and quickly delivers one of his own hitting his opponents' below his breastbone. The large man wheezes and doubles over, he grabs the man by the hair and punches him in the face, again and again.
The nameless faces, scream and yell louder.
With a grunt the large man breaks free, tearing his hair in the process, surprised he is unable to dodge when the man tackles him to the ground, a thick arm wrap around his neck and squeezes, with a growl he bites down hard breaking skin, his opponent yells and his hold goes lacks. Using the opening his knees the man hitting him in the groin, with his opponent whimpering in pain, he rolls them over until he is straddling the man and his hands are around his neck squeezing.
The man struggles to break free, but he is unrelenting, and only let's go when the man is no longer breathing.
Getting off of the now dead body, he looks around him, the nameless faces have gone quiet. He cares not from them as his dark eyes fix themselves on one man among them, his Slave Master, who frowns at him. Never looking away as he was grabbed, shackled, and taken away to a back room.
No sooner does the door closes does it reopen and his Slave Master comes in along with another Slave Master who was not happy.
"No" says the angry Master.
"Now, now, no need to dismiss so quickly, you saw how well he did out there"
"He killed my fighter!" snaps the Slave Master, "my prized fighter"
"Well these things happen" Bonnaire says with a small smile, "and now I'm giving you a new one, at a price of course"
The Slave Master takes in the other's smile he knows was mostly business then at the slave standing quietly bruised and bleeding; he went over to the slave. He grabs the slave's jaw and forces his mouth open; he found good strong and healthy teeth. Skin was tight with youth, covered in scars and muscles that after today he knew the Slave knew how to use them, and while his wasn't a tall as his previous fighter his height was still impressive towering over everyone in the room even the guards that where flanking him. The Slave's back is practically covered in whip lases, going back to the front, he looked at the Slave's eyes; they were dark and had a feral look to them.
"No" the Slave Master then says to Bonnaire, "he's too wild"
"But—"
"I said no!"
Bonnaire closes his mouth, he blinks before sighing.
"Alright" he agrees before placing on his smile, "how about a different one? Lower in price but sure to give your audience a good show, I'll even throw in another for your personal pleasure"
Moments later, both Slave and Master leave the room, with two other men, and Bonnaire's purse heavier.
When they arrive at the large blue tent, Labarge, the other Slave Master and Bonnaire's business partner was waiting at the entrance.
"Couldn't sell it" Labarge stated when saw the slave, eyes narrowing in suspicion when he saw the two men standing impatiently behind Bonnaire.
"Afraid not, but Porthos here did win me a rather large amount of money from the fight and I was able to convince our dear friend to by two slaves. These fine gentlemen are here to pick up their Master's purchases"
With a look to the two other men by the tent, they and Bonnaire escorted the other men into the tent, Labarge grabs holds of the chain that was attached to the shackle around Porthos's neck and roughly tugs.
"Come on, back in the cage"
Porthos walks, when they get to his cage he's pushed in, the moment Labarge leaves gentle hands take hold of his. Fingers caressed the bruising there, darks eyes looked up into his, worry in them. Those same hands reach up and cradle his face; Porthos's nuzzles into those hands into his own bigger ones and leads the other to the back of the cage. He sits down bringing the other with him, the other Slave lets himself be moved until he was settled between the other's legs and large arms wrapped themselves around his waist and a nose pressed itself against the skin of his neck.
Porthos takes a deep breathe, and the earthly scent that has remain throughout the years relaxes his body, he gives a pleased hum when the small body leans back against his chest. Neither move until the tent's entrance flaps opens hours later.
Porthos tenses, arms tightening and lips lifting into a snarl when Bonnaire along with a guard stops in front of their cage.
"Why must you always give me that look Porthos?" Bonnaire sighs as the guard slides in two bowls of stew; one having more portions then the other, along with two loafs of bread. "It won't do you or D'Artagnan any good in the long run" he continues on.
Neither Porthos nor D'Artagnan moves towards the food, unlike the other Slaves who scramble for their food.
"Still don't see why you bother talking to it, or even giving it more portions" grumbles Labarge as he enters.
"Better quality, better sales" Bonnaire sighs to his partner, "I've been telling you this for years, why have you not gotten the understanding of this? As for the extra portions, it's his reward for winning the fight as our agreement isn't that right Porthos"
The slave growled.
Chuckling Bonnaire moved away towards his business partner, it was only until it was just the slaves and the cages did Porthos gently remove D'Artagnan from his lap and towards the food. He tosses the bread to the younger before taking the two bowls and moving back to D'Artagnan.
One loaf of bread was split between them while the other was hidden for when there are days they had to go without food, the stew (which consisted of vegetable and unwanted meats given to the Slave Masters by butchers) was eaten, Porthos giving half of his to D'Artagnan.
10 Years Ago
Labarge is a cruel Slave Master, deprived of any kind human kindness; the slaves in his care live in content fear.
Even his men are weary of him.
Emile Bonnaire is an explorer, but mostly a business man, his fast talking and easy-going nature had made many fall under his spell.
So though it was strange, it wasn't to surprising when the two began a partnership, and it seems to work. Bonnaire handles the sales while Labarge handles the merchandise, collecting and breaking in new slaves. As for the reasons why, the two were silent though many knew it was mostly money for Labarge.
"He's rather small, are you sure he's the age of five?" Bonniare ask as he stares at the sleeping child curled up in Porthos's lap, the other slave, snarling at the two, "Porthos seems to like him" he then notes.
"That surprised us too, thought the mutt would have killed him last night or eaten him" Labarge says behind him, "hadn't fed him in about three weeks"
"Labarge" Bonnaire sighs a long suffering sigh as he turns to the other man, "how many times do I have to tell you, I don't mind you beating them, bruises with fade. I'll even let the occasional whipping slip by; I'll even turn a blind eye to you and your men 'tasting' some of the product"
Here Labarge grins and Porthos snarls, chains rattling as he moves closer to the wall.
"He broke one of my men's leg" the cruel Master then complains.
"It'll heal; let me finish, now as I was saying. I'll even allow the occasional missed meal as punishment, but I will not allow complete starvation, healthy looking slaves means more money, and I know how you love your money"
The greed in the man's eyes told the other that he hit the mark, even before the large man nods.
"I'm glad we've come to an agreement, now feed him and the boy"
Labarge grunts, before yelling over one of his man at the door to bring food, then watches as Bonnaire takes out a roll of keys, "what's he's name?" the man asks as he searches for the right key.
Labarge shrugs never understanding his partner's strange quirk for knowing the slaves names, rolling his eyes but not surprised by the answer. Bonnaire finally finds the right key and opens the cell door, the moment he steps in he pauses as Porthos growls at him.
The slave (eighteen years of age now) had always been wild, ever since Labarge brought him in six years ago, always unpredictable. He even hurt a couple of slaves, which was why he was alone instead of two or three like the others. No matter what Labarge does to him, he still won't break.
The slave was a fighter.
Bonnaire couldn't wait to see what he does in the fighting ring tomorrow night, though he prefer to see it with his body parts intact.
"Don't even think about it mutt" Labarge threatens one hand fingering the whip attached to his hip.
Porthos eyes it, he looks down at the child's in his lap blissful unaware of the danger, he removes the child from his lap, awakening him.
"Good boy" Bonnaire says and moves closer.
Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, it takes the child a moment to notice Bonnaire, when he does he shrinks back and shuffle closer to Porthos, who watches.
"Hey now, no need for that" the Slave Master says with a smile.
Porthos has seen that smile numerous of times when the man was trying to make a sell.
The child gives him a weary look.
"My name is Bonnaire, what's yours?"
"…..D'Artagnan" comes the hesitant answer.
It was then that D'Artagnan notices the other Master and whimpers.
"Don't worry about him, he won't hurt you"
No one blamed the child for the look he gives the man for that statement.
"He won't hurt you" Bonnaire continues, "but only if you do what your told, if you do that, no harm will come to you, I promise."
Labarge was a cruel man, a cruel Master, but Emile Bonnaire was crueler.
Present
The underground slave trade had been formed not long after King Louis XIII took the throne and outlawed slavery in France, it was a complicated system and one had to go through many channels just to get to an location alone.
"We're currently stationed on the outskirts of France's territory, once we cross the border my men will be waiting to lead us through the route into Paris undetected and to our bas of operation for the next couple of weeks" Bonnaire says as he looks over the map spread out on the table.
"I still say it's too risky" Labarge grumbles in his cup of wine, "we'll be hanged if we get caught"
"We won't" Bonniare reassures, eyes still on the map.
When morning came, everything was packed up and they headed for Paris.
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