Title: Acta Non Verba
Fandom: Musketeers
Author: gaelicspirit
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, Treville - GEN
Summary: Set mid-Season 2, after episode 6, Through a Glass Darkly. Out of favor with the King, Treville and d'Artagnan are assigned to transport two prisoners from Paris to Soissons. When their party is ambushed and they are taken prisoner, Rochefort grounds the Musketeers and sends the Red Guard after the prisoners under the guise of protecting the King. But the Inseparables mount their own, dangerous rescue mission, brotherhood holding more importance than a doomed outcome.
Disclaimer/Warning: They're not mine. More's the pity. The title is Latin meaning 'deeds not words'. Each chapter title is in Latin as well.
Author's Note: I've taken a bit of artistic liberty with the setting of this story. While I work to remain entrenched in canon, there are times my ideas complicate that effort. Therefore, I ask you to buy in on two adjustments to our show for the sake of this story: 1) Constance and d'Artagnan's public display of affection at the bottom of the hill after all were rescued from Marmion was simple and short-lived, and 2) the King did not retreat into his Rochefort-protected solitude immediately upon returning to the palace (as it appeared between episodes 6 and 7).
Also, one of my favorite things about writing in this fandom is that each of the four main characters gives us so many layers to work with. Individually, they could each hold their own novel-length story, but when the four are combined it's like sparking a powder keg. Though the focus of this story is d'Artagnan, I've attempted to place each man in the spotlight as the plot unfolds. Lastly, I've pulled some Musketeers I created for my previous stories into this one to keep things a bit consistent. If you read, I hope you enjoy.
Many thanks to ThruTerrysEyes for the sanity check. She knows all the skeletons in my closets. ;)
Mandi, this one is for you. Happy Birthday, my friend.
"It was like the eve of a battle; the hearts beat, the eyes laughed, and they felt that the life they were perhaps going to lose, was after all, a good thing."
- Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
It was odd to see one of them alone.
Bauer joined the Musketeers just after Athos, developed his own friendships among the ranks, and knew the importance and significance of having men close enough they breathed for one another when necessary. But there was something different about these four, setting their friendship on a level above military fraternity. These men were brothers by choice, not by something as arbitrary as blood.
Seeing Athos stand alone in the center of the garrison, hat in hand and brooding concentration coloring his features, shifted something sideways around Bauer's heart. The stance, the expression, signaled caution, wariness. The men in the garrison had known of the tragedy at the Chatillon that transpired the day prior. Many in the King's court had been murdered by the supposed astronomer Marmion, though the details of the Musketeers' involvement were sketchy at best.
Seeing Porthos supporting Aramis from his horse straight into the infirmary upon their return that evening, the sharpshooter's hair visibly matted with blood, had been enough to draw protective concern from the men lingering at the garrison who were waiting for their men and former Captain. But having Athos return sans d'Artagnan and simply stand in the dying light of day as though braced for an attack had Bauer on alert.
He approached the man slowly, running several possible conversation starters over in his head, uncertain as always how to elicit more than a quirk of an eyebrow in response. Before the young d'Artagnan had joined their ranks, the only person who could really trigger Athos into genuine conversation had been Aramis. The honey-voiced man had made an art of the perfect turn of phrase that would draw out a response from the usually taciturn Lieutenant.
d'Artagnan employed no tactic, per se; he simply barreled forward without acknowledgement of Athos' well-guarded walls, his very presence and passion demanding the older man engage. It had been amusing to watch on many levels; d'Artagnan's seamless infiltration of the trio's inseparability had been clear to all who stood outside their ranks much sooner than it had been to Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
However, dispossessed of d'Artagnan's earnestness and Aramis' guile, Bauer had to simply hope the latest level of chaos in their city would be a sufficient catalyst to draw information from Athos.
"Aramis seemed a bit worse for wear," Bauer commented as he stopped directly across from the other man. Athos' blue eyes were bright with an unidentifiable emotion as he looked up, his fingers gripping the brim of his hat until the tips were white. "Marmion?"
"It seems he went through a window," Athos replied, his voice low, an undercurrent of distraction woven through the words. "Second floor. Backwards."
Bauer winced. "How on Earth did he—"
"Had the good fortune to land on an awning."
It seemed the Lord isn't quite through with our semi-pious comrade-in-arms, Bauer thought.
"What of d'Artagnan?" Bauer continued, prodding Athos into speech via obvious worry over his brothers. "I heard nothing of casualties—"
"He's fine." Athos brought his chin up swiftly as if the very idea of anything otherwise was not to be entertained. "He accompanied the King's party to escort them safely back to the palace."
"Them?" Bauer couldn't help the smirk that lifted one corner of his mouth. "Or…her?"
At that, Athos simply raised an eloquent brow. d'Artagnan's love for the pretty Boniceaux woman was not exactly a well-kept secret. Still, Athos was a gentleman and as such unwilling to gossip.
"So, with everyone accounted for and more or less in one piece," Bauer spared a glance over his shoulder toward the infirmary, "why do I still get the feeling I need to prepare for a siege?"
Athos allowed a small smile to soften the line between his tense brows. "You're rather perceptive."
"I've been called worse," Bauer lifted a shoulder, following Athos to the stairs that led up to Treville's former office. Athos slouched a shoulder against a support post and Bauer settled on a lower step, his forearms resting on his knees. "Is it Treville?"
Athos sighed expressively. "He will be our Captain again. One day."
"Agreed," Bauer nodded immediately. "Is he with d'Artagnan, then?" It was curious that Treville hadn't returned with the others.
"I doubt it," Athos muttered, placing his hat back on the crown of his head, tilting his face toward the waning light of the setting sun. "He's not among his Majesty's favorites at the moment."
Bauer was silent a moment, digesting that. Without a Captain, they were at the mercy of the palace—and worse, Rochefort—for orders. Athos was the most senior among them, though aside from Treville they hadn't truly bothered with the chain of command before. The Musketeers were in need of direction, and soon.
Athos's eyes had gone distant once again; it wasn't his brothers that troubled him, Bauer now realized. It was something else, something that had transpired during their time with Marmion, as his Lieutenant had not been this tense prior to leaving the garrison. In fact, he'd seemed rather focused on drawing Treville out of his melancholy.
Perhaps it was the current unrest in Paris that was bothering the man.
"You've heard of the murders?" Bauer asked, pulling Athos' attention away from whatever darkness had momentarily swallowed his gaze.
"Murders?"
"Three in the last week," Bauer lifted his chin, eyes on the shadows that stretched to cover the courtyard. "Red Guard."
"Victims or perpetrators?" Athos asked with genuine curiosity.
"Seems to be the work of one man—a rather sadistic one at that," Bauer informed him. "Three Red Guard have been found dead, drained of blood, their tongues removed."
Athos' expression did not conceal the horror he felt at this news. "Found where?"
"At the palace entrance," Bauer informed him. "Someone is clearly sending a message."
"Why have we not been informed before now?" Athos demanded, pulling away from the post, his body squaring off into the posture of a soldier once more.
Bauer lifted a shoulder. "At first I'm sure it was to keep it quiet so that Rochefort could solve it without alarming the King…," he rubbed at the back of his neck, disquieted by the next statement, "then it was under the sentiment that Musketeers are not trusted."
"Because of Treville," Athos muttered, a muscle in his jaw flexing.
Bauer let his silence speak.
"Do they have an idea who this man is?" Athos asked, thumbs hooked in the wide leather of his weapon's belt, eyes on the shadowed entrance of the garrison, whatever had been troubling him before evaporated in the wake of this new threat.
"A Marechausee dispatched from Soissons has been investigating," Bauer informed him.
"The King allowed an enforcer of the law from a neighboring city to investigate deaths in Paris?" Athos stared at him, incredulous.
Bauer lifted his hands in a shrug, his Parisian body language ingrained since birth. "Who is to say that the King knows," he replied. "We only found out once Rochefort was occupied for too long with Marmion. The Marechausee's name is Laroche. Martin Laroche. He interviewed several of us while you were rescuing the King."
Athos' features darkened with a frown, and Bauer found he was glad to be sitting else he would have felt compelled to back up a step.
"Mathieu suggested it was a benefit to have Laroche investigating," Bauer offered.
"And why is that?"
Bauer squinted up at the other man, grudging humor edging his expression. "Diverts the accusations from the Musketeers."
At that Athos bounced his head in agreement. The discord between the Red Guard and Musketeers was legendary; three dead from the Cardinal's Red Guard might indeed shine suspicion on the King's Musketeers.
"What has this Laroche said about leads?" Athos asked. "And reasoning for the singling out of these men, or the Guard itself?"
Bauer opened his mouth to reply when the clattering of swift hooves suddenly echoed through the rapidly increasing darkness. He scrambled to his feet when he saw the rider was Grisier, his closest friend in the regiment, looking frenzied. The man's entire right side was covered with blood, but he swung down from his lathered horse without the tale-tell hitch of the injured.
"Bauer!" he called out, holding his mount by the bridle. "You must come with me!"
Bauer and Athos tied in their approach, Bauer reaching anxious hands to check his friend for wounds. Grisier slapped his hand away.
"It's not mine," Grisier snapped. "There's no time for this; you need to return to the palace with me." His eyes shifted to Athos as though just registering his presence. "You, too, Athos."
"What's happened at the palace?" Athos demanded, his voice growing edges that had Bauer shifting away lest he be cut.
"Another body has been found, but this time—"
"Is this blood from the body?" Bauer interrupted, confused as the other victims had been curiously exsanguinated.
"No! I'll explain on the way, but we must hurry!" As though seeing he wasn't getting through with a simple plea, Grisier reached out and grasped Athos by the lapel of his jacket. "d'Artagnan is in pursuit of the killer!"
"What?!" Athos bellowed. "Alone?"
Grisier nodded. "I couldn't stop him."
Without another word Athos turned on his heel and headed to the livery. Bauer shot Grisier a questioning look and received a quick jerk of the head in response. Following his Lieutenant, Bauer ran through the opened door of the livery and both men had horses saddled within minutes. Mounted once more, Grisier led them from the garrison and toward the palace at as quick a pace as they could manage through the city streets.
"I'd been ordered as a guard while the royals were at the Chatillon," Grisier called to them as they rode. "When the carriages returned, I started to leave until I saw d'Artagnan with them and told him I'd wait. He was just leaving the grounds to retrieve his horse when we heard the shouting."
Athos pulled his mount up close to Grisier. "The body was left at the palace entrance, like the others?"
"This time at the gate," Grisier shook his head. "And there is not just one man as Laroche suspected," he said, glancing at Bauer. "There were two. One was coving the palace gates with blood. Buckets of blood."
"What?" Bauer drew his head back, shocked. "For what purpose?"
"Intimidation," Athos replied as they rounded the corner near the Louvre and approached the Royal Palace. "Fear. To send Louis into a panic."
"What of d'Artagnan?" Bauer pressed Grisier for answers.
"He called out to the man we saw hanging the body on the gate and when the man ran, he gave chase."
Bauer and Athos shook their heads in unison, Athos declaring softly, "He'll catch him, too, God help us."
"Did you see where they went?" Bauer asked.
Grisier shrugged expressively. "Toward Notre Dame, for all the good that does us."
"The other man?"
"Rochefort and two other guards were close enough to hear our shouts and caught him before he could get too far. They're hauling him to the Châtelet." He pulled his horse to a stop near the gore-covered Palace gate. "Rochefort sent me after you."
"To pursue d'Artagnan no doubt," Athos replied, his frown turning quickly to a scowl as his eyes traversed the scene before him.
Parisians were accustomed to violence and suffering, some even perpetuated it on a regular basis. But there was an unspoken assumption that such things did not impact their monarchy. The King and Queen were kept apart from the filth and degradation that surrounded them and was pervasive throughout the city. To see the stain of blood cast across the gates to the Palace had upset the balance of accepted right and wrong more so than any number of dead Red Guard on display.
"Grisier," Athos instructed. "Help them transport the body to the morgue, then locate Treville. I don't care what Rochefort says," Athos continued, eyes cutting sideways to quiet any thought of protest, "the man was our Captain and needs to be involved in the fate of these brigands."
Grisier nodded once in agreement and slid to the ground, tying his horse off at post.
"Bauer, you're with me," Athos ordered, pulling his horse around and kicking it into a trot as they headed in the direction of Notre Dame.
"He's had too much lead," Bauer called out as he caught up with Athos. "We'll never catch him."
"I care not about finding this killer," Athos replied tersely. "We have the one; we'll find the other soon enough."
Bauer lifted his chin in sudden understanding. "d'Artagnan," he replied.
"That boy does not know how to quit," Athos replied. "He'll run until his legs give out if he must."
An undercurrent of worry was clear in Athos' tone and Bauer realized that not having the full story of what had transpired for his fellow Musketeers while in the company of Marmion was a detriment in this situation. Following his Lieutenant through the rapidly thinning crowds on the streets of Paris, Bauer kept his eyes in motion, leaning forward to look down alleys, peering through lantern-lit windows, trying to catch sight of the familiar dark head and the tanned leather of d'Artagnan's uniform. Soon the streets were almost too dark to see much of anything, the sun gracing just the rooftops with the last vestiges of golden light.
"There!" Athos called out, pulling his horse to a stop.
Bauer looked out and around, seeing nothing, until he realized Athos' gaze was directed upwards, toward the rooftops. Bauer followed his line of sight, gasping as he saw what could only be d'Artagnan's wiry frame swinging bodily from a two-handed grip. As they watched, Bauer gaping, d'Artagnan flipped his long legs over the edge of the roof to then roll to his feet and sprint forward in pursuit of another shadow much further down, running along the top of Paris.
"How in the hell…?"
"Porthos," Athos replied with a wry sort of pride coloring his tone and twisting his lips into a rare smile.
Without elaborating further, Athos kicked his horse into a trot, Bauer on his heels, getting ahead of d'Artagnan, but not quite reaching the other man. They were forced to stop by a crossroads, their horses dancing with nervous energy, responding to the anxiety that surged through the riders.
Bauer didn't tear his gaze from d'Artagnan, catching his breath as the younger man made a daring leap between two buildings, stumbling slightly, but catching himself to continue the pursuit. The Gascon was the brand of lean muscle that held a sort of raw energy Bauer could never muster; it had to be what fueled his seemingly endless drive.
"He's trapped himself up there," Bauer called breathlessly as they once more lost the lead in their pursuit. "There's no way to grab his quarry and get down safely."
"d'Artagnan won't worry about safely," Athos shouted back. "So we must."
In a sudden burst of speed, Athos wheeled his horse to the right, circling around the building d'Artagnan was currently traversing. Bauer chased after him, ready to follow the other man's lead. In moments he saw where Athos was headed and leaned low over his horse's neck to match the man's speed. They reached the river and pulled their sweaty mounts to a skidding stop, dismounting and rushing to the last building bordering the Seine, bursting through the entry doors.
Bauer took the lead, fairly certain he visited this particular establishment far more than his Lieutenant, and found the stairs that lead to the uppermost room. Tipping his hat in an insincere apology as he burst into a room currently occupied by a balding politician and a young woman half his age, Bauer climbed out through the window, main gauche in hand, and swung up to the roof, Athos on his heels.
They blue-gray of twilight teased his eyes with shadow, but soon he was able to hear the man running across the clay tiles of the roof toward them. Athos squared off next to him, sword glinting off the rising moon. They barely breathed, both listening in tandem to the pursuit that would end with their human roadblock. Before either of the men reached them, however, Bauer heard d'Artagnan cry out as though with impact and winced as the crack and slide of tiles followed soon thereafter.
Athos was moving before Bauer registered that what he'd heard was d'Artagnan tackling the man he'd been running after for closing in on half an hour now. The older man headed straight for the sound of the ruckus, rising moonlight his only guide. Bauer followed Athos, as he knew he always would, and tried to find any sign of the young Gascon along the Paris rooftops.
Cursing reached his ears, in an accent not of Paris, and Bauer surmised d'Artagnan had managed to gain the upper hand. But then Athos' voice belted out a warning and Bauer's blood ran cold.
"d'Artagnan, grab hold!"
It took Bauer a moment to focus, but once he did, he caught his breath. Athos lay sprawled on the slanted roof of the building next to the one they'd scaled, his arms over the edge, gripping d'Artagnan's wrist tightly and sliding inexorably toward the edge. Bauer sheathed his main gauche and threw himself down across Athos' legs, holding him as best he could with his weight.
"Release him," Bauer heard Athos order.
"I do and he dies," d'Artagnan's strained voice echoed up from below.
Gripping Athos' legs, Bauer pieced together the chain of events: d'Artagnan grappling with the alleged murderer had gone over the edge, Athos had caught his protégé, and d'Artagnan was now hanging between villain and hero, being stretched apart by gravity.
"Broken leg, at the most," Athos grunted.
"You sound like Porthos," d'Artagnan managed, the tension in his voice like a living thing.
Bauer dug his heels in as Athos slipped a bit further.
"I can't hold you both," Athos snapped. "Release him; we'll take our chances."
"Athos…!" d'Artagnan gasped.
"d'Artagnan, please." Athos' tone shifted from ordering to imploring and Bauer suddenly felt the man's slide cease as the weight on the other end of his arm became significantly less.
Scrambling forward, Bauer joined Athos over the side of the building and reached down for d'Artagnan, grappling to pull the young man over the edge of the roof and to safety. Once secure, the three Musketeers lay on the clay tile gasping for air, d'Artagnan between his rescuers. Bauer could feel the younger man's muscles tremble with delayed reaction, but said nothing as they each steadied their breathing.
Sitting up, Bauer could hear the pathetic cries of the man d'Artagnan had been forced to drop.
"Come," he said to his companions. "We can still bring this man to justice, thanks to d'Artagnan's impression of the Greek's Mercury."
"Which one is that?" d'Artagnan gasped, his low voice raspy in the dark.
"The one with wings on his heels," Athos replied dryly, pushing to join Bauer upright. He looked down at d'Artagnan. "What was the plan, exactly?"
d'Artagnan didn't yet rise. "I don't know that there was one beyond: catch him."
Athos traded a look with Bauer, then gained his feet, reaching down to help d'Artagnan up. Neither of the men commented on the low groan d'Artagnan offered at the motion. Making their way back across to the flat-roofed building and through the same window Athos and Bauer had used as their roof access, all three men offering half-hearted apologies to the balding man and his companion, they reached the alley and shooed away the gathering crowd.
It seemed Athos' gamble had paid off: the man had escaped with a broken leg, which seemed to have increased his vocal abilities quite extensively. Bauer gathered their horses and he and Athos lifted the presumed murderer atop Athos' mount, ignoring his curses and cries of protest. His tanned skin further shadowed by the moonlight, d'Artagnan swayed a bit as he stood waiting for the two men to secure the man to Athos' horse.
"You ride mine," Bauer said to his young friend. "You're dead on your feet."
"I'm fine," d'Artagnan insisted.
Narrowing his eyes at the younger Musketeer in doubt, Bauer thought to push the issue, then caught Athos' warning gaze. Bauer climbed aboard his horse, taking the reins to Athos' mount and eased the horses forward, staying behind the two men who headed back to the palace on foot. As he watched, d'Artagnan—who stood a few inches taller than his mentor, but was slender enough the height difference didn't seem to matter—leaned his shoulder slightly against Athos' with every other step as though keeping himself centered.
"They told you of the murders, then?" Athos questioned.
Bauer only caught d'Artagnan's head shake because they passed by a lit street light. "I saw a man hanging a body and another tossing blood…."
"So you went after the man simply because he ran," Athos clarified, as though for himself.
"Basically," d'Artagnan replied, his tone clearly implying what of it. He rotated his shoulder—the arm Athos had caught to save him from fate similar to his quarry—his back arching stiffly.
"You're welcome, by the way," Athos commented casually.
d'Artagnan chuffed. "Yes, thank you for nearly dislocating my arm in order to save my life."
"Had Porthos not encouraged those rooftop sojourns, your life might not have needed saving."
Bauer bounced his head as he listened. Porthos did have rather interesting means of traveling about Paris; it came as no surprise that he'd roped the young Gascon into his rooftop exploits.
"I'd have probably figured out something else," d'Artagnan offered with humble amusement.
They walked in silence for several steps, no longer in a rush, mindful of d'Artagnan's stilted carriage.
"Care to elaborate on the King's accusations of what transpired with Marmion?" Athos prodded gently, his tone a cleverly disguised command. Bauer remained quiet, waiting on d'Artagnan's answer. The man tied to the horse next to him was in too much misery to pay attention to anything except the pain in his leg.
"Marmion…he justified murder with the flip of a coin," d'Artagnan spat, venom lacing each word. "It wasn't his fault people died, you see. It was fate. It was the person who chose the side of the coin. They killed those people. He was…dismantling the King before my eyes."
Athos remained silent, waiting d'Artagnan out.
"And then he turned his attention to Constance," d'Artagnan whispered wretchedly. "And I offered myself in exchange for her life."
At that, Athos flinched. Bauer saw it; d'Artagnan felt it.
"I had no choice, Athos."
"There is always a choice," Athos chided, but then turned and looked at the younger man, the moonlight turning his skin alabaster. "And you made the honorable one."
"When Marmion fired his pistol," d'Artagnan continued, "I thought that was it. I was dead. And I was…I was at peace with it. Because Constance would live."
For the longest time, no one spoke. Bauer felt a suffocating weight between the two men walking in front of him. He was about to speak to alleviate it when Athos reached out and rested a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, saying without words he understood the sentiment.
"Marmion's brother saved me," d'Artagnan shook his head once. "Jumped in front of me and took the hit. I don't know that I'll ever understand that one. But…I'm glad not to be dead."
"What of the King?" Athos asked softly. "He said—"
"He was mistaken," d'Artagnan cut in, his tone bitter, his shoulders tense in the silver light illuminating the streets. "He sees only what he wants to see and even when the truth stares him in the face, he twists it to serve his own purposes."
Bauer drew back at the snarl, feeling a chill at the words. "Careful, d'Artagnan. You are skirting the edges of treason."
Athos had dropped his hand but was leaning his shoulder against the younger man's.
"Since Pepin…," d'Artagnan choked on the name. "The King simply is not the man I…not the man I wanted him to be."
"Did you encourage Marmion to kill him, as Louis suggested?" Athos asked quietly.
"No!" At that, d'Artagnan stopped so suddenly, Bauer had to pull his horse up to avoid running him over. "I was buying time, Athos. Marmion was playing us all—pitting lives against the turn of a coin. The only way I could think to save the King's life was to fool Marmion into playing his own game. You have to believe me!"
"I do," Athos replied, placing a reassuring hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder once more. "But you need to be prepared for the King's interpretation of the events to not play in your favor." He glanced up once at Bauer, then back down at d'Artagnan. "Especially with Rochefort whispering poison in the King's ear."
d'Artagnan seemed to sag a bit under Athos' hand, shaking his head once, then turned and walked forward, leaving the other two in his wake. It wasn't until they caught up with him that Bauer realized the lad was speaking.
"What was that?" Bauer asked.
d'Artagnan sighed. "The world has turned sideways," he murmured, his voice coming from the center of his chest. "I am adrift."
"Believe in your brothers, d'Artagnan," Athos said quietly, not touching the younger man, but keeping himself close just the same. "Use us as your cornerstone and build upon it."
d'Artagnan didn't reply and Bauer realized they'd reached the palace gates where several Red Guard—including Rochefort—were waiting for them. Athos stepped forward, leading his horse and the lamed suspect toward the group. Bauer listened as Athos reported the apprehension of the man and watched as Rochefort ordered several men from the Red Guard to pull the man from the mount and haul him to the Châtelet.
"You will pay for what you've done, Rochefort," the prisoner cried, his voice high and thin with pain. "You will not see another peaceful sunrise!"
Bauer frowned at the threat, but saw Rochefort shrug it off as though meaningless. The blond leader of the Red Guard ordered Athos to return to the garrison, not once bothering to thank him for apprehending a man suspected in the deaths of four of his men. His jaw muscle working vigorously beneath his skin, Athos gave Rochefort a nod and swung up on his now-vacant horse, holding a hand out to d'Artagnan. It wasn't until the younger man was seated behind his mentor on the horse and level with Bauer that he realized d'Artagnan was—like Grisier had been—covered in blood. He surmised it was not the Gascon's, but carried over from the marring of the palace gates.
Still, it was a bit unnerving to see.
They rode in silence to the garrison. Breaching the inner walls, Bauer saw that Treville had returned and was standing at the base of the stairs that led to his former office, watching them approach.
"I must inform Treville of these proceedings," Athos said to Bauer. He noticed the man purposefully did not use the title of Captain. "Can you make sure d'Artagnan is cared for?"
d'Artagnan slid unaided from the back of Athos' horse. "I can see to myself," he said with a dark glower.
Athos held Bauer's eyes until he received a nod in reply, then held his hands out for Bauer's reins. Dismounting, Bauer waited until Athos led the horses away and moved to stand near d'Artagnan, watching as the younger man stared vacantly at the dirt floor of the garrison.
"Sounds as if you went through a time of it," Bauer offered, hoping to draw the young man's dark eyes.
"He killed three people," d'Artagnan said quietly, his low voice soft and dangerous, "on the outcome of a coin flip. He almost killed Constance and Aramis."
Bauer nodded without replying. d'Artagnan raised his eyes and pinned Bauer with his tortured gaze, causing the man to force himself to be still rather than instinctively back up a step.
"If Rochefort hadn't handled it, I would have killed the man myself," d'Artagnan all-but growled before moving toward the infirmary.
"Where are you going?" Bauer asked, hurrying to catch up.
"To check on Aramis," d'Artagnan replied.
"Athos said he was fine," Bauer informed him.
d'Artagnan shot him a scathing look. "Athos didn't see him go through that window."
Subdued, Bauer followed d'Artagnan through the doors of the infirmary, both halting just inside as Porthos' scowl hit them like a physical blow.
"'e's just got to sleep," Porthos whispered harshly, standing like a watchdog at the foot of Aramis' bed. "You'll not be waking 'im."
Bauer slid his eyes to where Aramis lay sprawled on a bunk, a pink-tinged pillow beneath his head, one leg free of the blankets that covered him to mid-torso, thigh wrapped in several layers of bandages. His face appeared unmarked, save the edge of stitches poking from his hairline, but the line between his brows was evidence of his discomfort. Porthos waved them to the adjoining room where he could keep an eye on his friend and they could talk without startling the wounded man awake.
Bauer followed d'Artagnan, not missing the way the younger man stumbled against the doorway as he passed through.
"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked, his hushed tone urgent.
"Stubborn," Porthos replied, his dark eyes raking d'Artagnan in the dim lantern light of the infirmary. "But he'll live. What in the bloody 'ell 'appened to you?"
"Long story," d'Artagnan sighed.
"He chased a suspected murderer across Paris' rooftops for just shy of an hour and ended up being nearly pulled apart between Athos and his quarry," Bauer supplied.
"Alright, apparently not that long," d'Artagnan conceded.
Porthos took d'Artagnan's chin in his grip, tilting the young man's head one way, then another, eyes raking over the split lip and bruised cheek. Bauer hadn't noticed them before in the dark of the Paris streets. The blood on d'Artagnan's mouth was dried and the bruise was slightly puffy, but not fresh. Bauer gathered these were souvenirs from the adventure with Marmion.
"This 'ave to do with those Red Guard murders that went on while we were starin' at the sun?"
"It would," Bauer answered, as d'Artagnan's chin was still held in Porthos' grip.
Porthos sighed and released the young man's face, only to lift the edge of d'Artagnan's blood-stained doublet. "Tell me that's not all yours."
"It's not all mine," d'Artagnan replied, dutifully. Bauer saw a tremor slip across the younger man's bearing, his shoulders bowing a bit. "I'm just here to check on Aramis."
Porthos narrowed his eyes, studying the Gascon. Bauer watched in part amusement, part amazement as the swarthy man formed his apparent assessment with that stare. It wasn't hard to see that d'Artagnan was still on his feet by sheer stubbornness. Porthos turned away toward a bin of discarded clothes. He re-emerged with a clean tunic, doublet, and trousers.
"Change into this, let the physician look atcha, then I'll let you see Aramis."
"Porthos, I—"
Porthos held up a hand. "Take it or leave it."
d'Artagnan pressed his lips together, then sighed in defeat. Porthos jerked his chin at Bauer, summoning him back into the adjoining room to give d'Artagnan some privacy. Situating themselves between Aramis' sleeping form and the opened door to the room where d'Artagnan was changing, Bauer leaned against a window ledge, Porthos standing across from him. There was a weariness to the man that spoke of long nights and high stress, but Bauer knew Porthos wouldn't rest until he was sure his brothers were settled and at peace—all of them.
"'e telling the truth?" Porthos asked Bauer, tipping his head back toward d'Artagnan.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Bauer replied. "He's tired. That's about as much as I can see. You were with him longer."
Porthos shook his head. "After 'e went through the window," he tipped his chin toward Aramis, his expression darkening, "they hauled me 'n Rochefort down to the cellar. Chained us to a post. I made the bastard pop my shoulder t'get us loose."
Bauer winced. "You're not serious."
Porthos leveled his gaze on him. "You tellin' me if you were chained with 'im, you'd've just waited for rescue?"
"Fair point," Bauer nodded.
"I came back up to see this one," he gestured toward Aramis, "wasn't dead, thank God, and that one," he tipped his head toward d'Artagnan, "'ad been knocked around a fair bit and was in a right state."
"They apparently threatened Constance Boniceaux."
"'At'll do it," Porthos sighed, glancing askance as d'Artagnan emerged clad in clean attire, his bloody clothes gripped in a white-knuckled hand. "Oi," Porthos stepped forward, seeing something in d'Artagnan's bearing that Bauer missed. "Look at me. d'Artagnan. 'ey, look at me."
Bauer watched as the lad's dark eyes, heavy with exhaustion and not a little bit of battle-shock, lifted to meet Porthos' intent gaze.
"'ow about we sit down for a bit, yeah?" Porthos suggested.
"I wanna check on Aramis," d'Artagnan replied, his speech a bit slurred as he swayed on his feet. Bauer watched in recognition as the past two days visibly swept over the young Gascon, tipping him forward and practically into Porthos' arms. "Saw him fall."
Porthos nodded. "And ya didn't see 'im in one piece again 'till it was over, did ya?"
d'Artagnan shook his head.
"C'mon, then," Porthos slipped under d'Artagnan's arm, wrapping his other around the lad's narrow waist. "'e's sleeping."
"He's okay?" d'Artagnan asked, sounding all of twelve.
Porthos nodded. "'e'll be fine. Tough one, our Aramis."
d'Artagnan nodded and a sigh slipped out that sounded so weighted Bauer shot the younger man a worried look. Dark eyes, hooded with emotion and weariness rested on Aramis' still form, his body sagging against Porthos' sturdy frame.
"Satisfied?"
d'Artagnan nodded.
"Want to rest here 'til 'e wakes?"
d'Artagnan nodded again and Bauer watched as Porthos set him on the only other empty bed, gently pulling the bloody clothing from his grip and easing him back on the bed. The younger man's eyes closed almost immediately. As the regiment physician stepped back inside, several white cloths in his hands, Porthos nodded toward d'Artagnan. Without a word, the physician nodded back, waving a hand. Bauer knew the man would let d'Artagnan sleep and give him a quick once-over before he allowed him to leave.
Porthos paused once more next to Aramis' bed, eyes sweeping Aramis' still form, before ushering Bauer outside of the infirmary.
"Athos back yet?" Porthos asked.
"He was speaking with Treville," Bauer informed him. "All this with Rochefort and the murders…."
"Not a good situation," Porthos nodded. "You know this bloke what's looking into all this?"
"Laroche?" Bauer confirmed. "Nah, don't know him. Talked to him the once, while you were off with the King."
"Any idea about why he's focused on the Red Guard?" Porthos leaned against the support beam, his thumbs hooked into this weapons belt, a stance so similar to Athos' earlier at ease position Bauer found himself suppressing a chuckle.
"Other than they're basically a waste of space?" Bauer shrugged. "No."
Porthos sighed, his voice echoing not a little of d'Artagnan's exhaustion. "You know this is going to come back on us. Somehow."
"I can listen for them, if you want to rest."
"When Athos is done," Porthos replied, glancing toward Athos' quarters.
Thinking of what the big man had said about how he and Rochefort escaped their captivity, Bauer protested. "Porthos, you need to—"
Porthos raised a hand. "I'll rest when Athos is done."
Bauer nodded, realizing that he expected no less. Not from these men.
"I'll wait with you," he promised, wanting just for a moment, to feel what it meant to be inseparable.
-ANV-
The morning was thin; light slipped like a secret through the quiet garrison, breath clouding before dry lips in a reluctant release. Bauer rolled his neck, feeling as though he'd just closed his eyes for the night moments before the fist pounding on his door summoned him to the courtyard for an emergency meeting.
Aramis stood close to Porthos, both leaning casually against a post just outside of the infirmary, their stance belying the concerned frowns darkening their features. The marksman's face was paler than usual, lines of latent pain drawing it thin, but in truth, Bauer had seen the man look worse and fight on. Whatever wounds he still bore from his encounter with Marmion would not slow him in whatever faced them next.
Bauer sat on top of the common table at the edge of the courtyard, his boot heels hooked at the edge of the bench seat, watching each of the Musketeers gather in the courtyard at Athos' summons. Grisier sat next to him, elbows on his knees, his posture relaxed, but gray eyes sharp and wary as he scanned the yard. It was early yet, and many were still nursing the effects of the night before. Athos and d'Artagnan were in full uniform, as were Bauer, Grisier, and Mathieu, but Bauer suspected that was more for personal comfort than being prepared for anything specific—at least in his case.
Aramis leaned over and said something to Porthos in too low a voice for anyone else to hear. Porthos nodded gravely and Bauer watched his gaze shift until it rested on d'Artagnan, standing at the back of the courtyard, arms crossed over his chest and fingers tucked beneath his biceps. Athos stood on the stairs waiting as the men gathered, metal clinking, throats clearing, boots stomping.
Treville, Bauer noticed with surprise, stood among the men, his back resting with almost forced casualness against the staircase, strategically lower in stance than Athos. In point of fact, he couldn't recall the last time their former Captain had approached his office. It seemed the loss of title had stripped the man of more than he'd realized.
"Thank you for gathering so quickly." Athos' voice suddenly cut through the morning.
Bauer found that he wasn't alone when he glanced from Athos to Treville and back. It seemed the older man was taking the King's demotion to heart, not even choosing to lead them in practice if not rank. Athos was the next logical choice, but it clear to everyone present that the man abhorred the duty.
"As you all are no doubt aware, up until last night, there was a madman loose in Paris," Athos began.
"So they've finally caught Rochefort, have they?" called a voice from the back.
Appreciative laughter rippled through the gathered men, but it didn't reach Athos. Responding to their Lieutenant's stone-faced expression, the men quieted and waited for what came next.
"Thanks to the quick work of several here," Athos continued, cool blue eyes shifting from Bauer to rest momentarily on d'Artagnan, "two men were apprehended and will be charged with the murder of four of the Cardinal's Red Guard." Athos brought his chin up. "Setting aside personal differences, these men were soldiers, standing—like us—in defense of our King, our city. Their deaths will not be treated lightly."
The men stayed quiet, respectful of the intent behind the words if not the dead men themselves. Athos opened a folded missive, the seal having been broken prior. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, it was deliberate, yet detached, as though he was selecting his words from inside a box of thorns.
"I have here orders from Rochefort, delivered by messenger this morning as he is unwilling to leave the King unprotected."
That created a stir and Bauer felt Grisier straighten up next to him, calling out, "Hang on, Rochefort is sending us orders?"
Bauer's neck was hot, his jaw tense, as he felt the indignant consternation of his friends and fellow soldiers seep into him, causing him to call out in protest alongside many of the others. Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan remained silent, though the young Gascon had dropped his arms and moved to stand closer to the other two.
Athos brought his chin up once more, the only indication he felt as troubled by this turn of events as the rest. Treville didn't move, his eyes on nothing, his casual stance now looking defeated rather than unperturbed. Grisier stood, never one to stay still long in the face of conflict, and began pacing in a tight line just in front of Bauer.
"Three Musketeers will accompany Laroche, escorting the two perpetrators back to Soissons where they will await trial for the wrongs committed here in Paris as well as on their home soil," Athos read, pausing when the voices rose in protest loud enough to drown him out, Bauer's joining them.
"Athos!" Grisier called out, drawing the man's eyes. "They killed four people, cut out their tongues and drained their blood. These are not…sane men. Rochefort expects three of us to escort them safely?"
Athos didn't reply, but Bauer saw his eyes track from Grisier's indignant protest over to where his three closests friends stood, the only pocket of silence in the incensed rumblings of the crowd of men around them. Something crossed Athos' features then—a sort of helpless regret, a pain that Bauer couldn't place. It was enough to silence him, and he reached out to place a quieting hand on his friend's arm. Grisier looked over and Bauer simply shook his head, once.
"Two of the men," Athos continued, looking back down at the paper in his hand, "have been selected by the King. The third will be left up to the Musketeers to choose. The group will leave at mid-day."
The yard was suddenly quiet, as if the collective of men had caught their breath, holding it hostage for Athos' next words. Athos folded his lips in, looked down at the orders in his hands, then back up at the men.
"I will leave it to you men," he said, scanning the crowd and looking resolutely away from his friends at the back, "to select who will accompany Captain Treville and d'Artagnan to Soissons."
Bauer felt himself go cold. This was no better than a suicide mission; Rochefort certainly knew that. The men selected had been done so as both punishment and to make a point: do not speak your mind, do not cross the King, do not get sideways of Rochefort. In the heavy silence that echoed after Athos stopped speaking, Bauer shot a look toward where Aramis and Porthos stood with d'Artagnan.
The big man had stepped to the side, an arm out across d'Artagnan's chest in an achingly instinctive move of protection, as though he could keep the lad from harm by such a simple placement. Aramis stood with one hand wrapped around his side, the other fisted against his mouth. d'Artagnan, for his part, looked as though he'd almost expected such a thing. He stood utterly still behind Porthos' arm, his eyes pinned to Athos as though willing his mentor to look at him.
Unable to stand the quiet a moment longer, Bauer stood, mouth opened to call out to Athos when Grisier suddenly surged forward, bumping into Bauer's shoulder.
"I'll go with them," Grisier volunteered.
Bauer's surprise was matched by Athos' expression.
"Are you certain?" Athos asked.
"You didn't see what these men did, Athos," Grisier returned. "I hate the Guard as much as the next Musketeer," he proclaimed, glancing across the crowd of men, "but as you said yourself, they were soldiers. No one deserves to die in such a way."
Immediately, Bauer wondered why none of d'Artagnan's closest friends had volunteered before Grisier could speak up. But then, letting his eyes shift from Athos' grateful nod toward Grisier back to where the other three stood, posture unchanged from before, the realization struck him that without Treville, the Musketeer's only hope of order was Athos. And without Aramis and Porthos, Athos was a shell of a man.
It was striking to realize that these three knew each other to such an extent, it wasn't even a question.
"Laroche will be here mid-day with the prisoners," Athos said, closing the meeting. "Be prepared."
Bauer watched as the older man turned and hurried down the stairs. He expected Athos to stop and say something to Treville—who stood unmoving from his initial spot—but he breezed past heading directly for d'Artagnan.
"What is this madness, Bauer?" Grisier whispered next to him. "This is deliberate."
"I agree," Bauer nodded, turning to his friend. "You must be on your guard. Rochefort is clearly looking to eliminate the others; he sees them as rebels and threats."
"The only threat to Rochefort is the truth," Grisier growled.
You will pay for what you've done, Rochefort! You will not see another peaceful sunrise. The prisoner had singled the Captain of the Red Guard out, specifically, Bauer remembered.
"There is more to this that we are seeing, my friend," Bauer said to Grisier, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Stay vigilant. Your friends will not desert you."
Grisier met his gaze, nodding. "It is not my friends I worry about," he said solemnly.
"Come," Bauer turned his friend toward the livery. "Let's get you prepared."
Grisier was a simple man and soldier. It didn't take long to ensure he was well-equipped for the days' ride to Soissons. Bauer volunteered to take his blade to the armory and have it sharpened and bring him back a spare boot knife. He didn't expect to encounter anyone as the men had moved about their duties, but realized it was naïve to not consider d'Artagnan and his friends would also be at the armory.
It was Porthos' voice he heard first, the anger wrapping around each word stopping the Musketeer in his tracks just outside the room.
"'e's doin' this on purpose. Least 'e coulda done was sent some Red Guard along to act as more bodies."
Athos' reply was measured, patient, but no less tense. "He is, understandably, unwilling to risk more of his men."
"Oh, but 'e's got no problem risking us, is that it?"
"Stop, Porthos," d'Artagnan's low voice cut in. "It isn't Athos' fault; he can't change this."
"Somebody bloody well should!"
"It's Louis. He's…punishing me," d'Artagnan continued, and Bauer heard the clink of sword blades as the weapons were set against a whetstone. "I wouldn't kill a man he decided was a traitor—despite the fact that he promised the man clemency—and I encouraged a madman to flip a coin to decide his fate." d'Artagnan's bitter words jerked and bit as he sharpened his blade.
Bauer stepped forward when he heard d'Artagnan growl low and slam the blade down. Standing just inside the doorway, he saw Athos gripping the young man's bicep, preventing him from stomping away.
"We know that is not true," Athos said tersely.
"I've heard the men," d'Artagnan muttered, eyes downcast. "They believe I acted cowardly. That I was willing to sacrifice the King to save myself."
"No," Bauer stepped forward, startling the quartet in the room with his sudden presence. "The men—our men—do not believe this, d'Artagnan. If you are hearing these rumors, it is the malign of Rochefort reaching your ears."
d'Artagnan swallowed. "Perhaps part of it is true," he said quietly, looking only at Bauer. "Because right now, I'm afraid."
"You'd be a fool not to be," Aramis spoke up, his normally smooth voice edged with concern.
He stepped forward and Bauer saw a stiffness to his fluid gate and the mark of stitches at the edge of his hairline as he drew closer. Athos kept is hand on d'Artagnan's arm, and Aramis stood in front of the young man, forcing d'Artagnan to look directly at him.
"You are skilled," Aramis began, something in the cadence of his words encouraging d'Artagnan to slowly release the tension in his shoulders. "You are smart. You are swift. And you are resilient. Keep your eyes open and these skills will keep you safe. Your brothers have your back, d'Artagnan."
d'Artagnan swallowed, letting his eyes shift from Aramis, to Porthos, then leaned his shoulder briefly on Athos before he said, "Would that could be true in this case."
Pulling free from Athos' grip, he pushed passed Bauer and headed with single-minded focus toward the livery.
"He's not wrong," Aramis said to no one in particular. "Rochefort is looking to cull the flock."
"He'll have Grisier and Treville with him," Bauer offered.
"Grisier'll be of some help," Porthos grumbled. "Not too sure about our Captain."
Athos stepped forward, leaning on the doorframe next to Bauer and looked out toward Treville's office. "The man has not been himself that much is certain. But he isn't so far gone as to let harm come to d'Artagnan."
"And what of harm to himself?" Aramis asked, grimacing as though the thought hurt him. "Would he stop that for the sake of keeping d'Artagnan safe?"
"Treville is discouraged, sure, but…." Bauer began to protest when he saw Treville emerge from his office, a saddle bag slung over his shoulder, his sword and main gauche clutched in his hand. The men waited, expecting Treville to head to the armory and sharpen his weapons as the other two had, but their former Captain turned and strode dejectedly toward the livery.
"I 'ave a bad feelin' about this," Porthos murmured quietly.
It was a small party gathered in the courtyard to see the men off. Laroche—a strangely coiffed, jaunty man with a garish red scarf at his throat—sat astride a large, white horse, not bothering to dismount as Athos greeted him. The two prisoners were each astride horses, hands shackled with a chain that traveled up to a neck collar. The man d'Artagnan had caught was pale and sweaty, one leg free of its stirrup, wrapped in bandages.
A length of chain attached one man to Laroche's horse and Bauer found himself tasked with attaching the other to d'Artagnan's.
"It's a day's ride to Soissons," Athos informed Laroche. "I will anticipate the return of my men in two days' time."
"They will return when the job is complete," Laroche informed Athos, his voice a guttural rumble that drew a frown from all present.
Athos stepped forward, eyes not wavering, and stated, "They will return in two days' time, or I'll know the reason why."
Laroche lifted a brow, an expression of bemusement flitting across his face, then turned and started for the entrance to the garrison.
"Captain," Athos shook Treville's hand, drawing a soft, appreciative smile from Treville.
"I am not your Captain any longer, Athos," Treville replied with regret. "Take care of our men."
"I was about to say the same to you," Athos replied.
He turned to d'Artagnan, but the young Gascon moved forward and mounted his horse, denying his three friends the opportunity for goodbyes. Bauer gave Grisier a salute and a grin.
"Don't forget," Bauer said to him as he mounted his horse. "You still owe me a pint."
Grisier smirked. "That was only if you stayed with her the entire night," he returned.
"Watch out for yourself, lad," Porthos called to d'Artagnan.
As the group of six rode out from the garrison, the mid-day sun warming them and stirring up the familiar scents of the Paris streets, d'Artagnan did not look back.
"Stubborn one, 'e is," Porthos grumbled quietly. "There's a reason they call Gascons the Scots of France."
"That stubbornness may be the thing that keeps him alive," Aramis stated, his dark eyes on the empty doorway.
"Again," Athos agreed.
-ANV-
Bauer was not one to worry over friends sent out on missions. They were soldiers; facing danger daily came with the territory. He'd been in a few life-altering scrapes over his career in the Musketeers, and he'd lost many friends in the effort to protect the King and France.
So it was disconcerting to find himself lying awake, listening to the night as if it might whisper reassurances to him that his friends were alive and well.
It was only because he was inadvertently listening so intently that he recognized the sound of another restless soul—this one pacing outside in the garrison courtyard. With a sigh, Bauer rose and pulled on his boots and doublet, leaving his sword and main gauche in his room, and headed out to discover who else was up.
"Surprised to see you here," Bauer said without thinking, the moment he realized it was Aramis—sans doublet or weapons, breath clouding before his pale face—pacing the length of the targets set up at the back of the courtyard.
"Oh? And why is that?" Aramis replied amicably, not slowing in his mission to wear a groove in the earth. He had the rolling gait of a caged tiger: body tense, shoulders tight, head lowered. His entire bearing screamed out a warning.
One that Bauer chose to ignore.
"You're more apt to find companionship to combat sleeplessness," Bauer shrugged expressively.
Aramis tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Perceptive."
"So I've been told," Bauer smiled softly.
"You plannin' on sleepin' anytime soon?" came a low voice from the shadows.
"No one said you had to stay up," Aramis replied, testily.
Porthos stepped forward, moonlight sliding across his features and tucking his eyes into pockets of shadow. "'ow 'bout next time you think you see me fall to my death, you let me know 'ow easy it is to get to sleep."
Aramis abruptly stopped moving, his shoulders sagging. Bauer stepped away, leaning against a post, watching the battle of wills play out.
"I am sorry, my friend," Aramis replied softly. "I wasn't thinking. Not of that, anyway." He reached up to rub gingerly at the back of his head.
"Does it hurt?" Porthos asked, his tone gentling from his earlier rebuke.
"I'll live," Aramis replied. "We've both had worse."
"Sad truth of it," Porthos agreed, hooking his thumbs into his belt. "So what's with the midnight party, eh?"
Bauer watched as Porthos' eyes stayed fixed on Aramis, though his posture was rather purposefully in an 'at ease' stance. His hyper-vigilance was familiar; they'd all been witness the big man's efforts to keep Aramis focused and present when memories and battle sent the other man sideways. As suave as Aramis appeared, he was probably more damaged than any other soldier in the regiment. Were it not for Porthos, Bauer was fairly certain Aramis would have left the Musketeers long ago; where he'd be now was anyone's guess.
"Why, this mission, of course," Aramis confessed quickly. Almost too quickly, it seemed. Both Bauer and Porthos tilted their heads in question, clearly sensing their regimental marksman had been occupied with some other worry that he wasn't inclined to speak about. "Did Athos tell you the orders included his staying here to run the garrison?"
Porthos shook his head. "Nah, but I figured."
"Why didn't either of you volunteer?" Bauer asked suddenly, the question out before he registered he was going to ask.
Both men looked at him in surprise, as though they'd forgotten his presence entirely. Bauer waited, watching curiously as they looked back at each other before answering. He'd already formulated his own theory in response, of course, but was interested in hearing it from them.
"d'Artagnan is more capable than anyone gives him credit for," Aramis began.
Porthos nodded, stepping up closer to his friend. "And Athos…'e doesn't do well, bein' alone."
"He's hardly alone," Bauer replied, sweeping his hand around the quiet garrison.
"It's not the same," the two man answered in unison.
"If you're so confident that d'Artagnan is capable of handling this task," Bauer pressed, "then what has you so worried?"
The men exchanged another glance, Porthos breaking first. "Treville."
Bauer brought his chin up. "You're worried about the Captain? The man is the finest soldier in the regiment!"
"Louis demolished him with that demotion," Aramis replied. "He is…broken." He glanced down, tugging absentmindedly at his beard. "And I should know."
"And if Treville is compromised, not only will 'e not be watching d'Artagnan's back," Porthos sighed, "but the lad will split himself in two tryin' t'keep 'em both safe."
Bauer frowned. "Aren't you forgetting one vital point?" he asked, stepping forward. "Treville and d'Artagnan didn't ride off alone. I've known Grisier my entire career as a Musketeer. He's as fine as they come."
Porthos raised an apologetic hand. "Yes, of course, mate."
"We mean no disrespect to—"
Aramis' platitude was broken by the clatter of hooves, oddly loud in the quiet of the garrison. All three men turned in surprise toward the entrance, gaping as moonlight illuminated the white of a shirt covering a slumped, bowed back. Aramis was first, getting to the horse and catching its bridle to halt it before reaching for the obviously wounded man astride the animal.
"Bauer!" he shouted the moment his hands touched the slumped man's shoulders.
Bauer went cold, knowing immediately by the urgency in Aramis' voice that it was Grisier…and it wasn't good. He beat Porthos by a nose reaching the men and helped Aramis ease Grisier from the back of the horse to rest on the ground while Porthos moved the animal out of the way. Half of Grisier's face was dark with blood, his right side so saturated neither Bauer nor Aramis could find the wound at first. The man was trembling in Bauer's arms, his mouth opening and shutting spastically, as though he was soundlessly screaming.
"Grisier," Bauer called breathlessly, collecting his friend against him. "Hang in there, my friend. Hold on, Grisier."
"Treville," Grisier managed.
Bauer felt Aramis kneel close by him, the man's sure hands peeling away Grisier's doublet to find two wounds—Bauer couldn't tell if they were from musket balls or blades, but both bled copiously—that he immediately pressed his palms against as though he might stop the flow of blood by will alone. As though by magic, Athos and Porthos appeared next to him, both breathing hard.
"What of Treville?" Aramis asked, leaning close to catch any of Grisier's gasps. "What happened to you?"
Grisier reached up a shaking hand, grasping Bauer's shirtfront. "Tr-Treville…they have him."
"Who, Grisier?" Bauer replied, feeling his voice trip over his breath within his throat.
"Red G-Guard…betrayed…," Grisier breathed, blood suddenly bubbling up through his parted lips, spilling down his chin.
Bauer tightened his hold as his friend shook, his back arching as he fought for breath that would not come, drowning on blood as it filled his throat and trickled from his mouth. Before he could say another word, Grisier went slack and the man Bauer had known, fought beside, laughed with, and sheltered was simply gone.
"No," Bauer breathed. "Grisier?"
The body he held in his arms was nothing but a shell. It had never happened this way before, this level of violence in the safety of their home. It had always been on a battle field, tension and loss surrounding him. Not where they should have been safe.
Bauer couldn't move, couldn't release his hold on his friend. He simply stared at Grisier's sightless eyes until Aramis reached up a blood-stained hand to slide them closed. He felt the weight of the marksman's grip on his shoulder, silent in his shared sorrow.
But it wasn't truly shared, was it? To Aramis, losing Grisier was simply losing a fellow soldier, not a…brother. Not like losing Porthos, Athos, or—
"Oh, God," Bauer looked up, instinctively finding Athos' eyes. "d'Artagnan."
-ANV-
News of Grisier's return and subsequent demise spread like wildfire through the garrison. Within moments from carrying the fallen Musketeer to the infirmary—for lack of a better place to keep his body until they had a plan—half of the regiment had gathered, many demanding they ride after Treville and d'Artagnan, others demanding they reach out to Rochefort.
"If Grisier returned in this condition," argued Mathieu, "what of the others? If the killers are free, the King is in danger. We must inform Rochefort."
"Rochefort is the reason Grisier is dead," shouted Magliore, a hook-nosed man who rarely spoke up. "Telling him now would seal the others' fate for certain!"
"Enough!" Athos bellowed, his shirt flowing loose from where he'd simply pulled it over his head when Porthos' summons drew him from his wine-induced slumber. "Mathieu, ride to the palace. I will write you a missive to give to Rochefort."
Before anyone could argue, Athos turned to others, handing out orders to keep the men active, every inch their leader. His expression spoke of danger and determination, daring anyone to cross him. Not one man did.
"Porthos, please accompany Bauer and Grisier's body to the mortician. Aramis, meet me in Treville's office. Porthos will join us there when his task is finished." He raised his voice to address the group. "We will find our men, this I promise you."
"We should never have let them go out like this, Athos," Magliore said softly. "We let them ride to their death."
Athos glared at the man, the pain of possibility in his eyes slicing through Bauer almost as acutely as the loss of Grisier.
"I do not believe that," Athos replied, his tone a dare. "Now, do your jobs."
Bauer felt as though he were moving underwater, allowing Porthos to do most of the work in getting a wagon, carrying Grisier's body, speaking with the mortician. He simply followed, nodded, and moved when told to. He'd been too cavalier, he realized. Too confident. Thinking he was a solider and therefore knew death. Knew loss.
It hadn't touched him quite like this before. Hadn't taken his legs from under him, rocked him from the secure perch he'd found comfortable for too long. He watched his friend, his Captain, and the youngest in their regiment ride away with a jaunty wave and not a second thought.
And now his friend's blood stained his hands.
Porthos' strong arm guided him back to the wagon after depositing Grisier with the mortician and they returned to the garrison in silence, the beginnings of dawn just starting to tease the edges of the sky. Paris woke slowly; the secrets that ran open-armed and raucous through the night slowly retreated with the coming of day. The smell of food, waste, and unwashed bodies always seemed sharper at dawn before stretch of light had time to blend them with the dirt and steel that accompanied the mid-day hours.
They rode back through the entrance of the garrison, climbing down from the wagon. Bauer wanted to fall to his bed and sleep for a week. His whole body ached with an unfamiliar weariness and his eyes burned with unshed tears, sorrow not yet allowed dominance. He began to stumble toward his quarters when he saw Porthos pull up short, his body like a snapped bow string.
Following Porthos' line of sight, he saw Athos standing alone in the center of the garrison, hat in hand, in a strange echo of the stance he'd found the man in just yesterday.
"What is it?" Porthos demanded, approaching with no regard to finesse or strategy. "What's 'appened?"
"Rochefort," Aramis snarled from nearby. Bauer hadn't even seen him, but followed the voice to find the man sprawled inelegantly on the stairs that led to Treville's office, a piece of paper crumpled in his fist. "He's grounded the Musketeers."
"He's what?" Bauer cried.
"As our men have so obviously been remiss in their duties," Athos growled, his voice low, every word bitten off at the end, "it has fallen to the goddamned Red Guard to locate the prisoners and ensure their delivery to Soissons."
"Oh, so 'e can spare 'em now, can 'e?" Porthos bellowed. "After our men are murdered? Or worse?"
Bauer looked at him strangely. "What could be worse?"
Porthos wheeled on him, all consideration for his loss having evaporated with this news. "If Treville and d'Artagnan are alive, it most likely means they are being held captive. By men who are responsible for the murder of four bloody Red Guard."
"Right," Bauer swallowed, properly chastised.
"Rochefort couldn't give a rat's ass about finding our men," Porthos continued, this time circling around to address Aramis, who simply nodded in dark agreement.
You will pay for what you've done, Rochefort!
"My guess is…," Bauer said, feeling as though he were waking from a heavy sleep, "that was his plan all along."
Athos lifted his eyes. "What are you saying?"
"The man—the one d'Artagnan caught," Bauer said, slowly approaching Athos. "He said Rochefort would pay, do you remember?"
Athos nodded.
"What if he wasn't just talking about Rochefort capturing him?" Bauer supposed.
Aramis shifted to his feet in one fluid motion and clapped a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "I knew something felt wrong about this. Why single out Red Guard—and so brutally? They were fishing."
"Tryin' to draw out Rochefort," Porthos nodded. "Or at the very least, identify 'im."
"It is a practice among the Celts to remove a liar's tongue," Athos said slowly. "We know very little about these killers; Laroche swept them away so suddenly. The soldiers could have been questioned regarding Rochefort before they were killed."
"Which…doesn't exactly bode well for our men," Aramis muttered. "Except that they are not Red Guard."
"Magliore was right: sending the Red Guard after them now will seal their fate," Porthos exclaimed.
"But with the Musketeers grounded," Bauer interjected, "how do we mount a rescue without risking being disbanded by the King?"
Bauer didn't miss the looks immediately exchanged between the three men standing before him. They were close enough their shoulders touched, and their eyes meeting in the golden light of morning seemed to speak paragraphs in the silence.
"You won't," Athos said finally, looking over at Bauer. His blue eyes held a weight that Bauer immediately felt settle on his shoulders. "We will."
The two men who flanked him drew up at his declaration, their shoulders squaring off until the three of them seemed to form an impenetrable wall.
"Just you," Bauer said, his voice falling dead between them. "You three against who knows how many?"
"Seems like pretty good odds to me," Porthos half-grinned.
"Wake Mathieu," Athos ordered, still looking at Bauer, "and work with him to maintain order from Treville's office until we return. We cannot afford raising Rochefort's suspicions that we have departed." Something of his doubt must have shown on Bauer's face because Athos put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "With the Musketeers sequestered to the garrison, the hardest part will be keeping the men from sneaking out to a tavern."
"Athos—" Bauer cut himself off, feeling the need to protest, but not having a good enough argument. His gaze widened to take in all three men. "Do you really think they're still alive?"
"Treville is seasoned," Aramis said confidently. "Despite his obvious melancholy, instinct will kick in and he'll do what must be done."
"And d'Artagnan?"
Aramis glanced at Athos. "He's…impetuous," he allowed. "And has a tendency to act without thought for his own safety."
"He still fights with his heart over his head," Athos agreed worriedly. "He may be promising, yes, but he's still raw."
"You've got it all backwards," Porthos shook his head. "d'Artagnan's going to be the only way Treville survives this. Or have you forgotten 'ow many times 'e's saved our asses since we met the lad?"
Athos glanced down and Aramis smiled slightly.
"I owe that boy m'life," Porthos declared. "No way I'm letting some Rochefort-hating madman take 'im from us. If 'e's still alive, I aim to keep it that way."