Hello, lovely readers. This is a period piece, set pre-season. I was hit by a little inspiration, don't worry the next chapter of my other story "Bullets and Bandages" is coming soon. As always please follow and leave a comment.

Unfortunately, I do not own the Musketeers, the BBC has that honor.

Let the story begin…

The Writing on the Wall

Chapter I

~§~

The weary medic ran a hand through his hair as he inspected the body. Another victim in a long line of victims claimed at the hand of an unknown killer.

"Are the injuries the same as the last?" Athos asked, breaking the medic from his sleep deprived stupor.

"Yes," he sighed. "Small stab wound to the upper chest, with a corresponding exit wound on the back. The weapon looks small enough to cause minimal short-term damage, but from what I see here, it punctures a small hole in the diaphragm, causing difficulty breathing and possibly even a collapsed lung over time. There is also the possibility of exsanguination from the blood loss from the stab wound. They all bear marks of torture as well. Cause of death is hard to say, but whoever did this was very precise. He knows how to cause a lot of pain, without killing his victim right off." Aramis sighed and turns to lean against the table, grabbing his crucifix and saying a silent prayer for the lost soul behind him.

"This cannot get out to the general populace," Athos grimly stated. "If word gets out there is a killer loose on the streets of Paris, there would be panic in the streets." He walked over to place a comforting hand on the Marksman's shoulder. "We must deal with this now before another victim falls by his hand."

"How we gonna do 'at?" Porthos asked with a growl. "We don't even know who this mad man is, or what 'is bloody motive is," Porthos muttered, leaning back against the wall and glaring at the Lieutenant. Obviously disagreeing with his comrade about not telling the public about a mass killer on the loose.

"Porthos, I know you're upset," Athos replied. "But if word of this gets out, a person might use this as an opportunity to do a little killing of his own. Using this killer's mode and manner of assassination to disguise his own murderous deed." Porthos sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a sudden headache coming on.

"Well, I just don't think it's right. "They ought to know there is somebody out there goin' around killin' people for no reason!" Porthos growled, glaring at his friend with unbridled anger.

"Gentleman, gentleman," Aramis soothed, coming to stand in between his two friends. "Porthos, Athos is right. But you are also right my friend, to an extent." Athos quirked an eyebrow and turned to stare at the Marksman.

"Athos, you are right about not telling the people about the general details of the case, but they should still know enough to be able to defend themselves against this threat."

"We need more information before we release anything Aramis," Athos replied dryly. "From the details, we have gathered, this killer has no pattern to his kill's. One victim is a well know wealthy business owner and another is a penniless beggar. The only similarities are how they are found. They are all found in a house that is not their own, bound, seemingly tortured and with strange markings on the wall near the body. No, we must find another way." Porthos growled and took a step towards the swordsman, intent on beating him into his way of thinking. Athos raised a hand to stop his friends angry advance.

"We could, however, have a curfew of sundown for the public. At least they will be a little safer locked in their homes," Athos stated, glaring at Porthos. His intense gaze causing the streetfighter to look away in anger. "The cardinal could send his guards to enforce this curfew until we have found this butcher," Athos added. Aramis smiled and turned to look at his angry friend.

"That is a grand idea, don't you think so Porthos?" Aramis asked, taking a step closer to the livid Musketeer, hoping to calm his temper. Porthos growled and turned to head for the door.

"Their lives don't matter to you, do they? They're just some faceless rabble to be herded like cattle. I grew up on those streets Athos. Maybe you wouldn't understand, one can tell by lookin at ya, you had it better than anyone in this room. I'll bet you were a spoiled little rich boy, who never wanted for nothin!" Athos shrank back at the accusation, the claim not falling far from the truth. Porthos turned and slammed the door behind him, leaving his two brothers in a momentary stunned silence. Aramis sighed and turned back to look at his friend. seeing the haunted and faraway look in the swordsman's eyes, he knew the jab had hurt him more than he would ever let on.

"I'm sorry Athos, I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's just tired and frustrated, as we all are." Athos nodded and moved towards the door.

"We all need some rest; this case has taken its toll on us all. Why don't you follow Porthos and make sure he gets home in one piece and preferably sober, I'll go report our findings to the captain and we will meet again in the morning.

"That sounds like a good idea," Aramis answered, coming behind his friend and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Will you be alright making the report alone?" Athos gave a small smile, hearing the underlying concern in his friend's voice.

"I will be fine, you go after Porthos, make sure he doesn't cause any trouble. You know how he gets when he's angry." Aramis nodded and headed toward the door leaving Athos alone in the small room.

The swordsman took one final glance around the room and stepped out into the cold Parisian night, pondering the details of the case and wondering just what he would report to his captain.

~§~

Aramis quickly followed the large Musketeer. Worried he would get himself into an angry brawl with a random red guard. To his relief, he saw his friend enter the Wren and take a seat near the back. Aramis stopped and got two bottles of wine from the bartender before he quietly sat down across from his still angry friend, sliding a bottle across to Porthos. Hoping to diffuse some of the anger and tension that showed in the big man's face.

"Tell me what's wrong Mon Ami," Aramis quietly asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you speak to Athos that way." Porthos sighed and turned to look at his worried friend.

"I know, I know. It's this case Mis, somthin' don't feel right. I feel like somethin' terrible is gonna 'appen but I don't know what it is."

"I have that same feeling," Aramis responded, stroking his beard and staring off into the distance. "It's like a cold stone sitting in your stomach. Like a sense of dread… We're missing something, I just can't put my finger on it."

"Yeah, tha's it. Porthos replied, looking down at his cup then back to Aramis. "Mis, I...I didn't mean what I said to Athos. I was just angry is all, I know he just wants to keep everyone safe." Aramis smiled and leaned over to pat his friend's shoulder.

"He knows that my friend. He knows you didn't mean it." Aramis finished his drink and stood up to leave, throwing a few coins on the table for the bar maid. "In any case my friend, we should both be leaving. We have an early morning ahead."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Porthos agreed, getting up to walk out with his friend. The duo returned quietly back to the garrison, each lost in their own thoughts. As the two friends arrived at Porthos's quarters, Porthos turned and gave his friend a grateful nod before turning to enter his room. Aramis walked slowly to his room, located across the courtyard from Porthos's room.

Aramis sat on the edge of his bed, holding his head in his hands. Fervently praying that this maniac would not harm anyone else. As he lay down to sleep, his last thoughts were of his two friends and of this case that was testing the very bonds of their Inseparable friendship.

~§~

The swordsman slowly made his way to the Musketeer Garrison, intent on quickly finishing his report and stopping by the Wren for a bottle or two. This case was trying his patience and Porthos's outburst did nothing to improve his mood.

The Garrison was deathly quiet, with only a few guards on duty. Only a single candle could be seen shining faintly from the "Captains window", signaling he was still in his office. Athos sighed wearily as he made his way up the stairs and into the "captain's office". The captain had his back to the door, only turning when Athos entered the room.

"What have you got so far?" He asked gruffly. The older man having no tolerance for small talk this evening, after having spent the day with the king who was in an especially bad mood.

"Another body has been found," Athos stated grimly. "Conditions same as before, all found tortured, bound and very dead. The victims are all found in an abandoned building, far from their own homes, with strange markings on the wall. Presumably, the "killers calling card." No one has been able to identify the markings as of yet."

"Any leads? Treville asks, taking in the haggard appearance of his lieutenant.

"We have talked to a few of the victim's families," Athos replied. "They all seem to go missing seventy-two hours before they are found. We have no leads as to why the killer chose these specific people to kill. There doesn't seem to be any pattern or motive to these murders," the lieutenant added, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"The king wants this man found Athos," the Captain sighed. "He is afraid if this butcher is not caught soon there will be chaos in the streets and I am inclined to agree with him." Athos nodded his head in agreement.

"Captain, may I suggest a curfew of sunset for the general populace, just until the killer is apprehended. The cardinal could deploy his red guards to enforce the curfew, freeing us to continue the search for the murderer."

"Good idea, I'll talk to the king about ordering a curfew. In the meantime, I want you to take a day off. I don't think I have seen you rest at all these past few days."

"I can assure you, captain. I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duty. I will however go and get a few hours of sleep before we continue in the morning." Without waiting for a reply Athos turned and headed towards the door. A hand on his shoulder stopped his advance. He turned his head to see the Captains worried expression looking back at him.

"You three be careful," The Captain warned. Athos gave a small nod and turned to leave the office, pausing outside the door, lost in thought.

"There is something strange about this case," He thought to himself. "I'm missing something, I just can't put my finger on it." The swordsman sighed and headed down the stairs, across the courtyard and into the quiet streets of Paris. Determined to have a drink or two before he retired for the night.

~§~

Athos slowly made his way through the quiet streets of Paris and to the favorite hangout of the Musketeer regiment. The Wren was quiet, it's normally loud patrons were nowhere to be seen. As he entered, he saw his two friends sitting in the back unaware of his entrance. He stood at the doorway, deciding if he should join his friends, or find another place to drink. Deciding on the latter, he quietly left the building, his presence going unnoticed by his two friends lost in their own quiet conversation. He quietly made his way through the eerie streets, the moon casting strange shadows on the walls and the cold winter night sending a chill down his spine.

He decided on a bar a good distance from the Wren, hoping the long walk back to his lodgings would clear his mind and perhaps give him some new insight on the case. The outside of the building was in disrepair and the inside fared no better. But they had drinkable wine and to him, that's all that mattered. He drank a bottle of wine and went over the details in his mind, deciding, in the end, to stop at one bottle and head home. He wanted to go over his notes and prepare for the next day. He threw a generous amount of coins on the table for the maid and left. The cool night breeze refreshing, after the stale air of the bar.

He swiftly made his way back through the quiet streets and back to his room, praying that tonight he would finally be able to sleep. He removed his weapons belt and tossed it on the floor by his bed as he crossed the room to a small table in the corner. He pulled up a chair and stripped off his leather doublet and hung it on the back of the chair before he sat down. He examined a map of the city and marked the locations the bodies were found. He stared at the map for the longest time, envisioning in his mind the locations marked on the map and the surrounding locations. Suddenly a switch flipped in his head, a stroke of inspiration. If his hunch was correct, he had just discovered how the killer was choosing his victims and perhaps the much-needed break in the case they were all searching for.

He jumped up from his chair and pulled on his doublet. Grabbing his weapons belt as he headed for the door. As he opened the door he saw a large hooded figure blocking the exit. He quickly jumped back from the door, his quick reflexes surprising the masked intruder. He swiftly grabbed his sword from its sheath and threw the belt to the side. The intruder drew his sword and came to face the Musketeer Lieutenant, the size of the room giving the men little space to maneuver. The Swordsman soon realized he had met his match, the intruder obviously well trained in the art of swordplay. He desperately searched for an opening, a weakness in his enemy's armor. Seeing his chance, he took a swipe at the man's unprotected side. Tearing his coat and sending the man staggering backward, clutching his injured side. Just as he was about to make his final strike, a noise at the door behind him caught his attention. Before he could turn, a strike to the back of his head sent him to his knees in a daze. Before he could collect his senses, the other man had recovered from the shock of his injury and regained his composure. Before he could counter, the enemy had driven his sword through his chest, the sharp pain taking his breath away. He felt the sword being pulled from his chest, and then he was forcefully kicked backward. Sliding across the floor, coming to a stop at the far wall of his room. He lay there trying to breathe through the pain, trying to catch his breath. He knew he wasn't going to make it out, he had to tell the others what he knew in the short time he had left. He slowly turned and looked for his hooded assailant, thanking Aramis's God that he was momentarily distracted by the second intruder.

He grabbed a piece of parchment that had fallen to the floor in the struggle, taking a second look to make sure his attacker was still distracted. Having no pen, or ink to draw from he was forced to use the blood that was slowly pooling on the floor underneath him. He was almost finished when he was suddenly grabbed and dragged across the floor by his legs. Looking for anything to grab or use as a weapon he saw it. By some miracle, he saw his discarded weapons belt, thankfully unnoticed by his unknown assailants. He reached for it and quickly grabbed his main gauche from the belt, the light from the moon coming through the still open door, glinting off the blade. As swift as lightning, he threw the dagger as hard as his ebbing strength would allow. The dagger found its mark, buried in the chest of the second assailant who was dragging him across the floor. The man looked at Athos with a mix of shock and anger before he fell, dead before he hit the ground. The first man screamed in anger, grabbing the leg of the now broken table from the floor. The wounded Musketeer could do nothing but watch as the hooded man brought the wooden leg down on his head, sending him into the blackness that was even now, clawing at the edges of his vision.

~§~

Porthos awoke to find himself surrounded, not in the safe confines of his own room, but in the middle of the forest, surrounded by trees. Just as he started to wonder where he was, how he got there and what woke him. The sound of clashing swords broke him from his confusion. The sounds could clearly be heard, echoing eerily through the quiet of the forest. Porthos hurriedly searched for the source of the noise, putting his confusion of waking up in a forest instead of his own room at the garrison, at the back of his mind.

He quickly located the source of the noise, two men were fighting in a clearing a few yards ahead of him. To his horror, he recognized one of the men fighting as his friend he had angrily walked out on that night. Porthos started running, intent on coming to the aid of his brother. But he found, no matter how fast he ran, he could get no closer to his friend. It was as if an invisible force was stopping him from moving forward. As he watched his friend battle this unknown assailant, unable to help, another figure entered the battle, seemingly unseen by the distracted Musketeer. Now it was two against one and Porthos could do nothing but watch. The figure crept up behind the distracted Lieutenant, hoping to catch him unaware. Porthos tried yelling, tried to warn his friend of the impending danger, but his voice was gone. The only sound he could hear now was the intense beating of his own heart. Unable to move forward or warn his friend he watched helplessly as the second man hit the swordsman over the head, sending the man to his knees in a daze. This gave the other man the opportunity he needed. Before Porthos could think, or even make a sound the man had run the downed man through, the tip of the sword piercing the "Lieutenants distinctive leather doublet" at the back. Porthos screamed in anger and tried again to reach his friend. Suddenly, the world went black and he awoke with a start, finding he was no longer in the forest, but in his own room again, covered in sweat, his heart beat pounding in his ears. The memory of the fight in the moonlit forest still burning in his mind.

~§~

Cold. That was his first sensation. The kind of cold that went through your skin and settled in your bones, stealing the very warmth from your body. When he opened his eyes all he saw was snow. The light from the sun reflecting off the pure white substance stung his eyes and sent a spike of pain through his skull. No, not again, he thought the nightmares had finally stopped, but here he was again, back at Savoy. Surrounded by the horror of that day and the ever-present loneliness and grief shrouding that painful memory forever. As he got to his feet he could see his brothers lying dead in the snow, their blood coating the ground and turning the snow a dark shade of crimson. But something was different this time, something felt...off. As he searched the grizzly scene in front of him like he had done a thousand times before, he knew he wouldn't find any survivors and yet, he couldn't make himself turn away. Couldn't make himself wake up. He knew this was a dream and yet, he knew he would always try to help. Try to save the brothers he couldn't save from the icy hands of death. As he searched the faces, he recognized each one. Each Musketeer's face burned into his memory for eternity. But as he came to the edge of the camp, he saw movement. Was someone still alive? He quickly came to the aid of the struggling Musketeer, dropping to his knees by the wounded man's side. To his horror, he recognized the man to be his own friend and brother, whom he had seen a mere few hours ago. "No! You can't be here. You weren't here!" He thought, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to wake up. "This is just a dream," he muttered to himself. "This is just a dream." The fast, pained gasps of the wounded swordsman shook him from his efforts to wake himself. He opened his eyes to see Athos staring back at him, a sad expression in his eyes. The wounded Musketeer suddenly started to cough, and Aramis's heart stopped as he saw blood leaking from the side of his brother's mouth. It was then he noticed all the blood, so much blood. There's too much blood," He thought. "I can't fix this." The Medic in him took over as he tried to find where the blood was coming from. He took his friends face in his hands, wiping a few strands of dark hair from his eyes. "Athos, tell me where you're hurt, I can save you." He pleaded, running a thumb over the injured man's brow. The ailing Lieutenant tried to speak but was overcome with a fit of wet coughing. Coughing up more blood as he tried to answer his friend. The swordsman finally seemed to catch his breath, turning sorrowful eyes on his worried friend. He reached out his hand and grasped the medic's arm, giving a small sad smile as he felt his strength failing. "Athos! No, don't you do this. Don't you give up, this is not gonna be how we say goodbye." A single tear slipped from the swordsman's eyes as his normally vibrant green eyes went cold. His gaze now unfocused and hollow. His hand fell back to his side, never again to gracefully wield his beloved sword, or raise a toast with his brothers. Aramis let out a horrified and pain filled scream as he pulled his brother to his chest rocking him back and forth as he prayed that this was indeed a dream and not some horrible reality. He held his brothers head to his shoulder and buried his fingers in the long hair at the back of his head. Resting his chin on his brother's head as he continued to pray. Willing him to wake up, to move, to do anything. But his brother was gone and he was alone again. Back at that place…Back in Savoy.

~§~

He awoke with a start, a loud banging at his door waking him from his horrifying nightmare. He slowly made his way to the door and opened it a crack to see Porthos standing on his doorstep, covered in sweat and dark circles under his eyes. Aramis quickly opened his door and let his friend in, pulling up a chair for the frightened man.

"What happened Porthos?" He asked, checking his friend's temperature to make sure he didn't have a fever.

"I 'ad a nightmare," He replied. Looking up to his friend with a look of terror in his eyes. "It was so real. I saw Athos fightin' two men alone and I was powerless to 'elp. All I could do was stand there and watch as they struck 'im down like a dog." The big man leaned over and buried his head in his hands, trying to shut out the memory of that horrible dream. Aramis sighed and pulled a chair up next to his friend.

"I had a similar dream just now," he replied. "I dreamed I was back at Savoy, only Athos was there this time. There was blood everywhere…too much blood. He said, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I could do nothing but watch the life leave his eyes as I held him in my arms. Aramis closed his eyes, praying he would never see that sight again in the waking world. He turned to look at the street fighter, reaching out and laying a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "But, it was only a dream, my friend. This case has affected us all. We should all take some leave when this is over, maybe go somewhere nice and quiet." Porthos smiled, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulder and pulling him into a warm embrace.

"'at sounds like a grand idea, he replied. Releasing his friend and returning to his feet. "But, I'm still gonna go check on Athos. Make sure he's alright."

'Porthos my friend, I'm right behind you." The medic laughed grabbing his coat and heading for the door. "We can all laugh about it over coffee. Athos will tell us we are just being worried mother hens and we'll tell him, he needs to take better care of himself. I'm sure the man has not slept since this whole thing started."

They made their way out of the garrison and through the still waking streets of Paris, towards Athos's privately rented quarters. Each of them wishing he had at least found lodgings closer to the Garrison. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon and cast its early morning light over the city. When they arrived, they were instantly on guard, the strong smell of blood drifted through the crack in the door, causing the two men to halt in their tracks.

"You seein' what I'm seein'," Porthos growled, taking a step forward to peek inside.

"I see, be very careful Mon Ami, the intruder could still be inside." They each drew their swords and prepared to enter the room. What they saw when they entered took their breaths away. The room was in disarray, with smashed furniture everywhere and papers littering the ground. What concerned the two friends the most was the presence of a body, lying in the middle of the room, with Athos's main gauche embedded in his chest. Athos though was nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like Athos put up quite a fight," Aramis stated worriedly.

"Course he did," Porthos replied angrily. "Athos would never go down without a fight." Porthos made his way across the room and kneeled to study a few of the papers on the floor by the far wall. "Hey, Mis, come look at this," the big man yelled. Aramis slowly made his way over to stand next to his friend. Noticing the still wet pool of blood on the ground. "It looks like he was trying to leave us a message," Porthos added, handing the bloody piece of paper up to the shaken Medic.

The map is the key to…

"The map is the key to what?" Aramis yelled, handing Porthos the paper and turning to inspect the rest of the room, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I don't know, but whoever took Athos, is the same one who's been killin all those people," the street fighter answered with a growl. "We gotta find 'im Mis, 'fore it's too late."

"Don't you think I know that!" Aramis yelled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before continuing. "We must gather up these papers and take them to Treville, he might be able to help us make sense of Athos's notes. We must also find out the identity of the dead man on the floor. He could be the key to where Athos was taken." Porthos nodded and quickly collects the dead man on the floor, while Aramis gathered any papers he could find. Both men intent on finding their missing friend...their brother. Before it was too late…

~§~

Sorry for the cliffhanger everyone. But I do so love cliffhangers, so please bear with me. As I said above, if you like the story please leave a comment and follow. Your comments inspire me to keep writing.

Also as a side note, my birthday is in October if any of you feel like writing a story around that time :)

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