Authors note: This is Athos centric. It is so Athos centric you will wonder where the other three are. Everyone gets a whumping, some more than others. But Athos gets the most, all the way through. Did I say that this is Athos centric? Hint: this is Athos centric.
War Stories
Chapter One
It was a disconcerting feeling. He could not put his finger on what the problem was, but it felt odd. He wondered why he felt so unnerved. He was a Musketeer, a soldier. He had fought in battle, he had helped to quell riots and uprisings in the city and yet, at this precise moment, walking towards the garrison with one of his closest friends he felt perturbed. He glanced behind him for a second, there was nothing suspicious about the street behind them. Parisians going about their daily business, nothing to concern him and yet he was still sure he was being watched.
'What is the matter with you?' asked Aramis a slight tone of exasperation in his voice.
Athos looked across at his friend who was eyeing him with concern.
'That is at least the third time you've looked behind, who are you expecting to see?'
Athos realised he was being over cautious, of course people were watching him, he was a soldier, people always watched soldiers. Some people were pleased to see them walk by, some were wary, but people watched.
'Sorry, I did not think you would mind if I was doing my job, of looking out for trouble makers.'
Aramis did not look terribly convinced with Athos' reason, but he did not say anything further. They continued to walk in silence.
Athos had considered telling Aramis why he was looking around so frequently but, much as he trusted his brother, he did not want to become the subject of any mockery. Even if it was meant in jest, he did not want to give Aramis and the others any fuel to tease him with. He would deal with his uneasy feeling on his own.
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Treville had them gathered in the garrison courtyard, he stood on the steps and surveyed the group. Athos could tell he had unpleasant news for them. Treville always had an uneasy look about him when he was going to tell them something he knew they would not want to hear.
'The King has imposed another, small, hike in the taxes,' he said, pausing as some of the Musketeers shifted and murmured their annoyance, 'it goes without saying that this will not be received well by the people…I expect some unrest. I intend to increase patrols and make our presence felt across the city.'
Porthos glanced across to the others and smirked, 'guess we might have some actual work to do?'
'It has been rather quiet of late,' remarked Aramis in reply.
Athos considered that having to deal with some unruly Parisians might take his mind of the constant uneasy feeling of being watched. For once he welcomed the chance to get his hands dirty dealing with the unhappy populous. Generally, he felt nothing but sympathy for the hardworking people who were so unfairly treated by their King, but at this moment the idea of being distracted was inviting.
Treville sent them off in groups about the city. The four of them were assigned to patrol one of the larger market areas. The market was busy, traders plying their business as normal, they got the impression the news of the tax increases had not filtered down to all the people. They knew the mood would change over the coming days.
Athos tried to walk in his usual slightly brisk manner but found he still needed to continually check about himself. Did he see someone dart off around a corner there? Was that man following him? Who was that standing half hidden behind a stall?
He had to remind himself, not for the first time, that he was a soldier. And soldiers were not paranoid. Except, he was paranoid. And he wished for the feeling to dissipate.
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The others had been a little surprised when he did not join them at the tavern for drinks when their day was finished. He had made a feeble excuse and waved Aramis off when he had asked if he was feeling ill. It had only been a short walk back to his rooms but he had moved quickly, unable to hide his haste and wish to be off the street and away from the unseen foe that seemed to be everywhere. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his discomfort.
As he reached the door to his rooms he looked over his shoulder, there was nobody there. Why would there be? He was not being followed, no one was watching him.
He pushed the door open, entered his rooms and locked the door. He glanced across at a chair and contemplated leaning it against the door as an added barrier. But that would be taking it too far he thought.
As he took off his hat and removed his weapons belt he looked about the room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was missing, but it felt wrong. He drew his gun and slowly moved through the two rooms. His breathing had quickened and he felt nervous. There was no one there. But he could not help thinking there had been.
Was he going mad? Was this some sign of lunacy? Delusions, anxiety and fear. What was wrong with him?
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He did not sleep well. He always slept with a weapon within easy reach, but he had woken many times during the night, his hand reaching for his gun. At one point he had risen from his bed, grabbed the gun and rushed to the door, pulling it open and finding nothing on the other side.
As he walked to the garrison, earlier than he would do normally he still had the feeling he was being watched. With none of his brothers to notice, he increased his glances behind. But he never saw anything suspicious.
Was it time to tell someone his fear? He did not want to appear weak, agitated by ghosts and shadows. No. He had to work through whatever was causing the issue on his own.
He rounded the corner and walked into the courtyard. He was alone, he crossed to the table and sat down. He poured himself a cup of water and realised his hand was shaking as he put the cup to his lips.
This was ridiculous. Why was this affecting him so much? He had to push the thoughts away, go back to being his stoic normal self. The others had already noticed he was behaving differently. He decided he would make a concerted effort to behave as the others would expect him to.
When he felt a hand on his shoulder his reaction was anything but normal.
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D'Artagnan walked across the garrison yard towards Athos who was sat at the table, his back towards him. The man appeared to be very deep in thought. Athos had seemed a little distracted of late, which was unusual for the swordsman. When he had not joined them at the tavern it had surprised them all. Even if he had stalked off into a corner to drink alone at least he would have been with them, they had watched him walk away towards his rooms, a slight agitation to his step as he went. Aramis had taken a couple of steps after him, but been stopped by Porthos who said that Athos was probably best left alone. They had agreed between them to keep an eye on him.
Athos had not looked up as D'Artagnan approached, he reached out and lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. The reaction from Athos was such a surprise that d'Artagnan could not react.
Athos grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm around pulling it hard up behind his back. Athos had sprung from the bench and forced him a few paces into the nearest wooden post with such force that the air was knocked from him. It took him a few seconds to realise Athos had drawn his main gauche and was pressing it to his neck. Athos was breathing hard, pushing him against the beam.
As suddenly as the attack had started, Athos stopped. He stumbled back a couple of paces. D'Artagnan turned, he rubbed at his shoulder and arm as he did so. He stared at Athos whilst he caught his breath.
Athos looked shocked at what he had done. His eyes were unfocused, he blinked several times before finally looked at d'Artagnan. He opened his mouth to speak but did not seem able to find the words.
Once d'Artagnan was able to breath normally he stepped away from the post and took a couple of steps towards Athos unable to hide his concern. He knew that Athos had not intended to attack him, there must be something else that caused the usually calm man to react in such a violent manner.
'Are you OK?' he asked.
He stopped in front of Athos for a second, before gently guiding the still shocked looking musketeer back to the bench and pushing him to sit down.
'I'm sorry…I…'
'Who did you think I was?'
Athos looked up at d'Artagnan for a few seconds. He was clearly struggling to make his mind up about something.
'I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on.'
Athos sighed, 'I have been getting the feeling that…that someone is following me.'
D'Artagnan was not quite sure how to react. He moved to sit on the bench next to Athos, he picked up the cup of water and handed it to his friend. Athos' hand was shaking when he took the cup. The reaction most unlike the normally steady man.
'How long has this been going on for?'
'A couple of weeks…I know it is ridiculous but I cannot escape the feeling that I am being watched and followed.'
D'Artagnan realised it must have been difficult for Athos to relate the problem to him. His friend looked a little ashamed. It was quite odd to see Athos looking so lost.
'Who do you think it is?'
'I have no idea. I do not believe anyone has a particular grudge against me…I don't know, it is probably nothing.'
Athos appeared to be trying to brush off the incident, but d'Artagnan could tell it was clearly bothering the man very much. He looked up as Porthos and Aramis strolled into the yard, Porthos was laughing at something Aramis had told him.
Athos looked at d'Artagnan, more than a hint of embarrassment and worry in his eyes. D'Artagnan shook his head, he would not say anything to the others.
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They were again dispatched to patrol the market. The news of the tax increase had started to filter down to the people of Paris. Athos could almost see the news being spread like a wave rolling up a shore line. Some people looked crestfallen others were immediately angry looking for some way to fight back. This was what they were looking out for.
They needed to stop any potential trouble before it got out of hand. If they could calm any particularly determined protests before they gathered pace they could maintain peace on the streets. But it would be no easy feat. There had already been a few small skirmishes in other parts of the city. It was only a matter of time before more people began to protest.
He became aware of a group of young men who had gathered, one was talking animatedly, with the others nodding their agreement. He and d'Artagnan approached them, stopping a few paces away.
'What do you want?' asked one of the young man, he was holding a blacksmith's hammer loosely at his side.
'For you to disperse and go about your business,' replied d'Artagnan his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. They did not want to encourage violence, but they wanted the men to know they would retaliate if necessary.
The group of men turned towards them, puffing out their chests as they did so. It was clear that this was not going to end peacefully. Athos was aware of Porthos and Aramis crossing the market to join them.
'Let's not make this difficult, lads,' said Porthos as he reached them.
One of the other men took a step forward raising the iron bar he was holding, Porthos reacted by drawing his sword. The reactions of the two men was the catalyst for the rest of the group to surge forward.
They drew their swords in unison, joining Porthos. The four of them were soon engaged in fighting the group of young men. It was not something Athos enjoyed doing, the men were simply protesting the unfair treatment they were receiving from people who did not understand what happened in the real world. These were people who worked hard to live, they had little money and, in Athos' opinion had every right to be annoyed at their treatment.
Aramis and Porthos moved off to the left drawing three of the men with them. D'Artagnan was facing two men, the one with the hammer and a scrawny lad with a broken piece of wood. Athos was fending off the man with the iron bar.
He was holding back, he did not want to hurt the man, his only goal was to wear the man out, to prevent him doing something he would regret. He had not even needed to draw his main gauche. They had moved to the corner of the market. He and d'Artagnan were fighting side by side. D'Artagnan had easily knocked the piece of wood from the scrawny lad's hand. The young man, barely more than a boy, had run off, Athos hoped he was not getting reinforcements.
A tall broad man appeared behind the man with the bar. He grabbed the man and threw him against a wall. Athos took a step forward as the tall man turned towards him, he could not see the man's face, a hood pulled down low hiding him. The man with the bar scrambled up and ran off. Athos was about to thank the man, tell him his intervention was appreciated but not necessary when the man pushed him into the wall. The move was unexpected. Athos reacted by trying to push back, but the man, several inches taller than himself and of a much heavier build easily kept him pinned against the wall.
Athos kicked the man in the shin, the man reacted by pulling him forward and throwing him back against the stone wall, hard. His head hit the wall, stunning him, the man let him go. Athos could not coordinate his legs as he slipped to the floor, his vision blurring. He knew he was concussed, as his vision continued to fade he was aware of the man turning towards d'Artagnan who was coming to Athos' aid.
D'Artagnan wielded his sword but the big man brushed it aside and stepped towards the young musketeer. As Athos slipped into unconsciousness the last image he saw was of the man punching d'Artagnan to the ground and kicking him viciously.
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