Finally! I finished another of the 4 stories I have started. Whew! Sorry it took so long. :) Summer is nice and warm and sunny and totally not conducive to sitting at a keyboard writing. But, I promised, so... here ya go! Hope yawl enjoy! thank you to my wonderful beta, Sharlot, who stuck with me through the long process. You're a champ, girl!
Law and Disorder
Chapter One
Aramis gasped as the cold water brought him round. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he gagged, choking as he tried to roll, thwarted by the bindings holding his wrists at the small of his back. Cracking his eyes open, he drew in a sharp breath as the fuzzy outlines of two men approached, each grabbing an arm and forcing him to his knees. Head bowed, eyes clenched tight against the pain pounding against his skull, he attempted to listen to the mumbled voices surrounding him, trying to remember how he'd come to find himself in such an untenable position.
The last memory he could dredge up in his addled mind was at the Wren with Porthos and d'Artagnan. He'd begged off early, his back and leg still sore from his plummet from Marmion's window earlier that week. The bruises were healing, fading from dark blues and purples to greens and yellows, but the muscles still ached, and he had left his friends to their drinking and overall merriment to return to his rooms to rest.
He shook his head despite the incessant pounding, clearing the water from his lashes, as he tried and failed to recall what had transpired immediately after his departure.
Shuffling footsteps stopped directly before him and he tentatively raised his head, squinting up through the low illumination at the shadowed figure silhouetted against the torchlight.
"Aramis of the King's Musketeers." The shadow's voice rumbled deep and low, and Aramis winced as it reverberated inside his aching head. "You stand accused of the murder of Charon, King of the Court of Miracles. How do you plead?"
"What?" Aramis gasped, disbelief clouding his voice. He momentarily thought it a sick joke, though the idea of even the Red Guard being this cruel was beyond comprehension. "You must be mad –"
The slap came out of nowhere. The force of the blow, coupled with the lack of warning to prepare, sent his senses reeling, a white flash exploding inside his skull. He slumped in the hold of the two men at his sides, his cheek burning, his recently won consciousness fading as his vision narrowed to blinding spots of light pulsing behind his closed lids. His tongue worried at his bottom lip, the taste of copper serving to incite his resolve and focus his attention on the threat before him.
"How do you plead?" The demand repeated through the ringing in his ears.
He swallowed, forcing breath through his nose as he strained to lift his head. He opened his eyes, ignoring the black that crept along the edges, leveling his unfocused gaze at his shadowy accuser.
"Charon died by my hand," Aramis admitted in a rough voice. "But it was not murder." He schooled his expression, not allowing any of his anger or fear to show, knowing it would not serve him against his adversary. Charon had tried to kill Porthos – stab him in the back – it was only because of Aramis' quick defense that his friend was still alive today. "He was not the man he professed to be."
The shadow raised his hand as if to strike again and Aramis tensed for the blow, refused to look away, holding his ground. Charon had been in league with the Cardinal, betraying his own people for financial gain. He didn't know if these men were ignorant of the man's treachery or simply refused to believe it, but either way, Aramis would not – could not – show remorse for his actions.
"Enough!" Before the man could strike, an oddly familiar voice broke through the tension, and Aramis' muddled brain scrambled to place the feminine tone. "We had an agreement, Tommen. He was not to be harmed."
The shadow – Tommen – dropped his hand and turned, allowing Aramis a glimpse of the woman who had stepped in on his behalf. The torchlight flickered over the golden hair, highlighting a face he had expected to never see again.
Flea ignored the men holding the Musketeer and dropped to a crouch directly in front of him, shouldering Tommen back without fear.
One corner of her mouth tipped up in a sardonic smile, her eyes raking Aramis' battered countenance.
"Hello, Aramis," she greeted, her dulcet tones gentle rather than grating in his ears. "You've looked better."
He ran his tongue across the split in his lip, the taste of coppery blood sharp on his tongue. Grateful for the reprieve from further aggression, he managed a cocky grin as he met her gaze. "I'm thankful for your timely interference, my lady. I take it I have been spirited to the Court of Miracles?"
She chuckled, tipping her head in response. "Not just another pretty face, are ya?"
He smiled in earnest. "No, and it generally earns me a more hospitable welcome." He glanced at Tommen, still standing behind her, arms tense across his chest, obviously irate that his entertainment had been cut short. "Though I will admit, your presence seems to have rendered the activities much more amenable." He returned his gaze to her. "It is preferable to gaze upon such a lovely face when so rudely awoken."
"Just because I don't want to see you harmed, does not mean I feel anything other than basic human kindness."
Aramis tilted his head in acceptance. "At the moment, I'll take what I can get." He did not know her well, but Porthos still spoke highly of her. Despite the fact their one and only meeting nearly a year before had resulted in pain and chaos for many of the Court's denizens, Aramis trusted his friend's judgment enough to currently put his fate in her hands… as if he had another choice.
Flea took a moment to assess the Musketeer, obviously finding his condition wanting under the circumstances. Aramis forced himself to remain still under her inspection, blinking owlishly as the pounding in his skull resumed with a vengeance. With a shake of her head, she looked up at the men still holding his arms. "Release him."
They complied at once and Aramis fell forward upon the loss of their support. Flea managed to catch his shoulder before he hit the ground, and he grunted at the impact, reaching up to grab hold of her arm with a shaking hand. She remained quiet, allowing him a moment to steady himself before guiding him shakily to his feet. Once she was sure he would remain upright, she turned to Tommen, placing herself between the aggressor and the Musketeer.
"We had an agreement," the diminutive woman accused. "You agreed he would be tried for his crime fairly." She twisted, waving a hand at Aramis as he swayed behind her. "He was to be treated with respect."
Tommen spat on the floor, the globular coming close to Aramis' scuffed boots. "He deserves no respect," the man hissed, dirty blonde hair falling across his brow. "You have no right to interfere. He must pay for what he's done."
His anger moved him forward, only to be met by Flea's hand on his chest. To Aramis' surprise, she showed no sign of intimidation even though Tommen towered over her. "We will see," she responded, the steel in her voice cutting through Tommen's rage. "But we will not act like the animals we are perceived to be. We will not kill a man until his guilt has been proven."
Tommen laughed, the sound causing a shiver to crawl up Aramis' spine. "A waste of time, if you ask me. He's already confessed."
"I admit that Charon died by my hand," Aramis corrected. "Though anyone who witnessed it would not call it murder. If you speak with the others who were there – "
"Other Musketeers!" Tommen hissed. "They'd say anything to save your neck."
"I was there also, Tommen," Flea announced. "Do you believe I would lie to save this man?"
Tommen narrowed his eyes. "I've no idea what you would do for these dogs." He shifted his heated gaze to Aramis before returning it to her. "Porthos considers him a brother. I no longer know where your loyalties lie."
"Porthos once considered you a brother, too," she chided. "Do you cast aside the past so easily?"
Tommen huffed a laugh, his eyes blazing in the low torchlight. "It was Porthos who cast us aside. He made his choice." He stabbed a finger toward Aramis. "He chose them. He chose to leave us here to fend for ourselves." He shifted forward, ignoring Flea's low warning, invading Aramis' space. "Porthos won't be able to save you, Musketeer. You'll pay for what you've done."
With a curt jerk of his head, he signaled the others to move, following them from the dank room, leaving Aramis and Flea behind.
Flea pulled a knife from her belt and deftly cut the cord binding the Musketeer's hands.
Thankfully free from restraint, Aramis rolled his shoulders before reaching up to wipe the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
"Thank you." He reached behind him, tentatively touching the spot on the back of his head where the pain was centered. His searching fingers found a large welt under the matted hair, but fortunately no blood.
"Don't thank me yet," she sighed, turning to face him. "I meant what I said to Tommen. You are to be tried for Charon's murder."
Aramis shook his head, frowning at her declaration. "You know as well as I that Charon's death was the result of his own actions. It may have been my blade, but his own reckless decisions led to his demise."
Flea crossed her arms on her chest and nodded. "I know. You had little choice. But the people here have no idea the depths of Charon's betrayal. They still believe him worthy of their loyalty."
"And you have yet to set them straight."
She dropped her gaze, unable to deny the Musketeer's accusation. "It was Charon's death that brought the people of the Court together to withstand the Cardinal's attempt to destroy us. I did what I had to do at the time." She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she ran a hand up and down her arm. Despite her resolve in the face of Tommen's anger, she suddenly seemed fragile in the flickering light. "I did not expect anyone to try to avenge him. I thought once we were united against the Cardinal, we would be able to rebuild, stand stronger together."
"Instead the anger has festered," Aramis deduced.
"For some," she admitted, shaking her head sadly. "I hoped to contain it, get through to them, but Tommen…"
"I take it he would not listen to reason."
Flea's chuff of laughter held little humor. "That's putting it mildly. With the Cardinal gone, he has been recruiting others to rise up, using the call for vengeance to incite them to action." She replaced the knife on her belt and crossed her arms on her chest. "He wanted to have you executed. It was all I could do to get him to agree to a trial."
"It appears I have already been condemned."
"Tommen is angry, but will abide by our agreement. I'm hoping once he is convinced of the truth, both he and his followers will understand why I kept it from them all this time. Charon's betrayal is not something the people here would take lightly."
Aramis swallowed, nodding slowly. "I empathize with your plight," he began. "But I don't believe this trial would be in my best interest. Unless I am truly a prisoner?"
She returned his gaze evenly. "I'm sorry, Aramis."
Aramis sighed. "Very well. If I am to be tried, I must insist my friends be notified. They are, after all, witness to my innocence."
Flea nodded in acknowledgement. "I will see they are informed, though I am not sure their testimony will be welcome."
"You know Porthos. You know they will come for me," Aramis cautioned. "If you want the truth to be known, if the people here are to understand what really happened, you will make sure their words are heard."
Flea sighed. "You're right. I will send word to Porthos." She looked at him with regret shining in her eyes. "But I cannot allow you to go free. I will do what I can to protect you, but you will remain under guard until a verdict has been reached."
"And if that verdict is guilty?"
Her lips thinned as she squared her shoulders. "These are good people. They will understand."
Aramis chuckled mirthlessly, his eyes on the door Tommen and his men had passed through moments ago. "I would like to believe you, but…" he touched the back of his head, wincing at the tender bump growing beneath his hair.
Flea shrugged, but managed an apologetic smile. "Tommen and his followers do not represent the majority of the Court. But, if I fail to convince them of your innocence, I am sure your friends will have a few ideas on how to make them see reason."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Porthos scraped the last of the bread through the thin soup Serge had prepared for the morning meal. He much preferred the days when a hearty bowl of warm porridge awaited him, but now that Rochefort had begun his campaign to impugn the regiment's reputation, it was becoming more and more difficult to feed a regiment on the coin the King allowed, and sometimes the old cook had to stretch the money in order to make it last the month. At least the soup was hot, the crusty bread absorbing the juice, giving it a slightly nutty flavor that settled in his stomach quite nicely.
He looked up as d'Artagnan and Athos approached, both setting their weapons on the table before taking seats opposite him.
"I see Aramis has yet to grace us with his presence," d'Artagnan observed, reaching for a chunk of bread and the squat jar of honey sitting on the tray in the center of the table. "He left earlier than usual last night. Do you think we should check on him?"
They'd all noticed how stiffly the marksman had been moving since the encounter with Marmion days ago. Though he claimed to be nothing more than bruised and sore, they had all kept a close eye on him, knowing if he was truly hurt, the signs would come more from his actions than his words.
"He was moving slowly but seemed to be in good spirits," Athos remarked. He poured himself a cup of warmed wine from the decanter on the table and leaned forward, forearms on the weathered top as he took a sip. "I expect we'll see him soon."
"Unless he's still in some lovely's bed," d'Artagnan smirked.
Porthos laughed but shook his head. "Nah, 'e wouldn't let that hold him up. Besides, whoever this mysterious new woman he's been seeing is, he's not likely to risk her by allowing Treville to take note of his truancy."
Athos' contribution was a grunted agreement.
They passed the time in idle chatter, each eating or drinking their fill until the Captain called for morning muster. If he noticed that one of his more spirited Musketeers was missing, he didn't make an issue of it, though the pointed looks he threw their way made them suspect the absence of their fourth had been noted.
As soon as Treville had retreated to his office, Athos drained his cup and pushed himself from the table.
"The Captain is not happy."
Porthos rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "That's putting it lightly." Treville had enough to worry about with Rochefort whispering in Louis' ears. Since his demotion, the men of the regiment refused to treat the Captain any differently, still showing him the respect and consideration he deserved. Aramis knew this and wouldn't purposely place further burden on Treville's shoulders. Though Porthos was irritated with his friend for upsetting Treville, he couldn't help the twinge of worry that crept into his annoyance. Aramis was hardly one for watching the clock, but he would never miss muster unless it was unavoidable. Although he had seemed fine the previous evening, he was still moving stiffly, lacking his normal fluid grace, and Porthos couldn't help but wonder whether the marksman's reticence in responding to inquiries of his condition these last few days had been to cover something more serious than simple cuts and bruises. "You two head on out, I'll go by his rooms and find out what's what."
Whether by design or Treville's good graces, they had been assigned to guard duty at the palace for the morning, allowing them some leeway in reporting.
Athos nodded, leading the others toward the stables. As they approached, they noticed a young boy at the front gate, attempting – unsuccessfully – to gain access to the garrison. The boy was dressed in rags, obviously from the slums, and he was furtively arguing with the guards on duty, holding something in his hands as he tried to push past their defenses.
The boy was determined, causing the two guards on duty at the gate to be a bit rough with him. Never one to stand idly by and allow an innocent to be harassed – even from his own brothers – Porthos broke from his path and made his way to the archway. "What's this now?" He puffed out his chest, his hands hooked in his belt, staring at the boy, stopping his argument mid-plea.
"He says he has a message for you," Michelle, a newer recruit who took his duty very seriously, explained. "But he won't tell us what it is. And we can't allow him access until we know his intent."
Porthos nodded at the recruit, silently commending him on his astuteness and dedication to duty, before turning his attention to the boy. He narrowed his eyes, assessing the lad and stepped between him and the guard, dropping down to his haunches to bring their eyes level. The boy stared, open-mouthed, at the impressive bulk of the Musketeer.
"I'm Porthos. You have a message for me?" Porthos asked, allowing a grin to lift one corner of his mouth. "Have we met?"
The boy shook his head. "No, sir." He swallowed, eyes wide as he regarded Porthos, his feet seemingly frozen to the ground.
Porthos couldn't help but chuckle at the look of awe that graced the boy's face. "Well?" he asked after a moment of silence, leaning into the lad's space. "'aven't got all day."
The boy leaned back, startled at the Musketeers proximity. He licked his lips nervously as he reached behind him. Porthos tensed, unsure of what the lad had hidden, but was completely unprepared for what the lad presented. When the boy brought his hand around front, it held a very familiar looking blue and green peacock feather.
Porthos' amusement died instantly.
"Where did you get his?" He snatched the feather and rose to his feet, leveling an intimidating stare at the boy. He held up the feather, shaking it for emphasis. "This belongs to a friend of mine. He wouldn't've let it go lightly."
The boy took a step back as if preparing to run, but Porthos darted a hand out and latched on to a boney arm before the child could make good his escape.
"I'm gonna ask you one more time, boy. Where did you get this feather?"
"F-F-Flea," came the stuttered reply.
Hearing the name of his old flame was unexpected and Porthos released the boy as if burned. The youth took advantage of the Musketeer's surprise and sprinted away, ducking into an alley and disappearing from view.
"Should we go after him?" Michelle asked eagerly, ready to give pursuit, but Porthos shook his head, his eyes trained on the feather in his hand. It was bent about halfway up, the normally vibrant colors stained by what he hoped was only dried mud and dirt.
"That looks like the feather from Aramis' hat."
Porthos nodded as d'Artagnan and Athos approached from behind. The big man stood rigid, his gaze toward the street, his vision focused on the memory surfacing in his mind.
It has been almost a year since he'd seen Flea, agreeing to stay away from the Court for her sake as well as his own. They'd been able to thwart the Cardinal's scheme to destroy the Court of Miracles, but at a high cost. Charon's deception had hurt them both, and though Porthos would never understand his old friend's decision to destroy all he'd held dear for the weight of a few coins, he knew Flea had taken his deceit much more personally.
He still felt a rush of excitement whenever he thought of the woman he had been so close to when he was a denizen of the Court, but he knew there was no future for them and had agreed to move on, knowing she would never be a part of his world, and he could never return to hers.
"Porthos?"
He swallowed, shaking his head lightly to clear the memories from his mind. Whatever reason Flea had for sending this message, Porthos could only assume it did not bode well for Aramis. He turned to Athos and d'Artagnan, patiently waiting for an explanation and held up the feather. "Flea sent it."
Athos eyes narrowed. "For what purpose?"
Porthos took a deep breath through his nose and released it through pursed lips. He had no idea why his former lover would have something so personal of Aramis' in her possession, but the message was clear. It was a summons, and he had no choice but to answer it. He tucked the feather into his belt and pushed past his friends toward the stables. "I don't know. But I intend to find out."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
They were met with resistance at the entrance to the Court of Miracles, five men standing guard, obviously awaiting their arrival, blocking their path. Porthos dismounted, holding out the reins of his horse to Athos who took them with a silent nod. The order to be careful was unspoken but understood.
"We're here to see Flea," Porthos announced as he approached the guards. He glanced at each of them in turn, his gaze settling on one he easily recognized from his days in the Court. "Tommen, it's been a long time."
"Not long enough," the man retorted.
Tommen leaned in an open doorway to their right, arms crossed on his chest. His smug smile sent a cold sliver of rage through Porthos, and the Musketeer forced himself to clamp down on it lest he make matters worse.
"So she managed to get word to ya, did she? That didn't take long. Guess it's not surprising that Flea beckons and you come running. Who knew Musketeers were so easy to keep?"
Porthos bristled at the man's words but refused to be baited. "Where's Aramis?"
Tommen pushed himself off the door and sauntered into the street, standing before Porthos like a challenge.
"He's still in one piece, if that's what you're worried about." His taunting grin was infuriating and Porthos clenched his fists at his sides. "She insisted, you know. Maybe you're not the only Musketeer Flea's sweet on, huh?"
Porthos returned his smile, but his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Good thing for you she did. If anything happens to him, there'll be no place you can hide from me."
"I wouldn't dream of hiding from you, Porthos. As a matter of fact, I'd settle this right now except I gave her my word I would play by her rules."
"And just what rules are those?"
"Your boy keeps breathing until he's found guilty." Tommen smiled and Porthos' skin went cold at the hatred in his old friend's eyes. "But I'll let Flea explain it all to you." He looked past the Musketeer at Athos and d'Artagnan still mounted on their horses. "Only you."
Porthos grunted his agreement then turned and stomped his way back to the others.
"You're not really going to go in there alone?" d'Artagnan asked quietly, his eyes flicking from Tommen to the other men scattered about. "Five against one is hardly good odds."
Porthos grunted in agreement. "Not really a lot of choices here. They've got Aramis."
"What did he mean 'until he's found guilty?" Athos wondered, his brow furrowed, his gaze trained on Tommen across the narrow street. "Guilty of what?"
"No idea," Porthos responded. He unbuckled his weapons belt and handed it to the swordsman. "But from what he said, Flea's still in control of the situation, so I have to trust her."
"I know you have a history with this woman –" Athos began but was cut off by the look in Porthos' eyes.
"She's a good woman," he assured them. "She wouldn't have sent the feather if she meant him harm."
"Then what do you think is going on?" d'Artagnan prodded. "What could they possibly want with Aramis?"
Porthos glanced back over his shoulder at the men waiting for him. "I have a feeling this has something to do with Charon." He tilted his head toward Tommen. "That man there was one of Charon's favorites. He and I didn't really see eye to eye on most things, but he was loyal to Charon."
"And Charon died by Aramis' blade." Athos concluded.
"But Charon was in league with the Cardinal," d'Artagnan argued. "He tried to blow them all up before attempting to stab you in the back. How can they hold Aramis accountable for that?"
Porthos shook his head and shrugged. "I've no idea. Either they don't know what really happened or are looking for leverage against Flea. Either way, I think they mean to take their vengeance on Aramis and right now she's the only thing standin' in their way."
"And you believe she can prevail?"
"She knows the truth," Porthos' voice was adamant. "Aramis isn't guilty of anythin'. No way she'd allow anythin' to happen to 'im."
"Which is why she sent for you," Athos concluded. "We will remain here. If you are not back within the hour, we will return with reinforcements."
Porthos nodded. "If I'm not back in an hour, do what you have to do. Find Aramis, get him out."
"And you?"
Porthos straightened his shoulders and turned back to the men of the Court. "Just find Aramis. I'll be fine."
TBC