Hi all, The scene between Athos and Gallagher outside the abbey seemed to promise a confrontation with a worthy adversary, like the episodes featuring Vadim and Marmion. The siege was well done, but with all the extra things going on in this story, it felt like a little bit of Gallagher's potential as a bad guy was lost. So this action/adventure based tale explores what might have happened if all hadn't gone so well at the end of the siege. A few plot points are different for the sake of setting up a dramatic ending. Enjoy!
Chapter 1 - En prise
"Did I mention this has to count?" Athos allows a sardonic smile to draw up the corner of his mouth. The weight of his pistol is heavy in his lap. Two shots between them and at least four of Gallagher's men remain...
"Thanks for the reminder," Aramis nods with mock sincerity as he turns across their barricade - his arquebus poised.
Athos reaches over to grasp his friend's leg, careful not to impede his aim. "The Queen?"
They share a brief look, and Aramis shakes his head. "She is safe - for now."
Athos grinds his teeth. There is sense in keeping Her Majesty's location secret, but it irks him to be kept in the dark. He cannot prevent his thoughts from drifting back to the sight of Aramis and the Queen lying together so peacefully that morning. Torn again between amusement and strangling the man, he quashes the impulse swiftly. "If nothing more, tell me whether she remains in the abbey."
The younger Musketeer's hand falters on his weapon as muffled noises in the corridor filter through to their position. "She does not," he mouths silently, his eyes wide and filled with meaning.
A breath he didn't realise he was holding slips past Athos' lips, and the usual steady calm of combat finally settles over him. At least he knows now that there is a chance to keep the gunman from his quarry. But if Gallagher discovers that Her Majesty is alone and unprotected outside the abbey walls before she has the chance to hide or find assistance, all will be lost. The man will stop at nothing. Athos had seen the unflinching resolution in his bearing as they faced each other outside the Abbey - had understood the depths of his determination as he gunned down his own companion. Neither pain nor pity would move this man's heart to spare the Queen, and beneath the assassin's military exterior was the bitterness of a soul cast aside in favour of the more privileged. Gallagher could have no love for the Musketeers, who had everything denied to himself.
"Why did you not accompany her?"
"It was not -, " Aramis hesitates, "- let us just say that my stature did not allow it."
Athos raises an eyebrow with a silent quip about the 'stature' Aramis had displayed the night before with the Queen.
Aramis rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."
Athos recalls the bolt holes and secret passages below his own estate at Pinon and forms an image of the Queen's escape. "That is quite the risk you took. Let us hope it pays off."
The silence is broken as a knife is tossed into the hall - a cheap trick to test their ammunition. The two musketeers share an amused look.
As the first of Gallagher's men steps out from behind cover, Aramis' shot tears through the enclosed space - deafening. Sure of the sharpshooter's marksmanship, Athos readies another jibe - only to have it violently cut off as a second blast follows the first. Aramis is ripped sideways as a shot drives into his exposed side. His stifled cry fills the space between them - and brief, paralyzing shock pins Athos to the barricade as Aramis writhes backwards, breath hitching.
A wordless exclamation leaves Athos' lips. After so many narrow escapes, so many brushes with death, he has slowly learned to expect the deus ex machina - the sounds of their brothers on the stairs charging to their rescue. But Porthos and d'Artagnan have not - perhaps cannot - come. And the vulnerability of their position only now truly makes itself felt - with Aramis' head sinking back against the stone wall, and his own fingers frozen in indecision.
Tearing his eyes away, Athos lines up his shot, breaths, and fires their last bullet at the man who is now inches from the barricade. A blaze of gunpowder swallows the man's fall. For Aramis, he thinks, then turns back to his brother who is looking up at him with face rapidly paling and hands grasping at his side. Athos knows they do not have time, but scrambles to pull Aramis' hands away and peel aside the leather surcoat hiding the wound. It is no use. Aramis' belt impedes his progress, and he cannot see the extent of the damage.
"Leave it," Aramis hisses, pushing him back. Both their hands are now red with blood.
"Hold on," Athos says - because he cannot find any words of comfort.
Aramis gives him a weak smile and squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. He takes a laboured breath. "If I ever complain about - an assignment - not being exciting enough - ".
Athos scrabbles for his pistol and retrieves it from the floor, his thoughts sluggish but finally taking shape. He draws his sword silently, the blade taking agonizing seconds to come free, and with his left arm takes aim down the corridor with his spent pistol. With the familiar motion a tenuous calm washes over him and he stands, stepping over the barricade.
Gallagher moves out confidently from behind the wall, his own pistol leveled. Two armed men flank his position, and Athos can make out at least another two behind. The gunman's expression is intense - pale eyes darting - searching for Anne.
"Stay back."
Gallagher eyes Athos' pistol. "You're out," he challenges.
"Are you willing to take the risk?" A slight tremor runs through his arm as small noises from Aramis - so difficult to ignore - make themselves heard.
Gallagher sniffs, and takes another step forwards. From his new vantage point, he can see Aramis sprawled against their barricade - white and bleeding - his discarded arquebus behind. The man's lips pull into a tight line, and Athos can see satisfaction and confidence building.
"Your friend is bleeding out. It's over." The gunman motions with his pistol for Athos to move away. "Step aside. The Queen is mine."
Gallagher cannot see behind them to the corners of their refuge, and still believes her Majesty to be hidden. Athos thanks whatever fate convinced Aramis not to bring the Queen down here. Two motivations war within him - the longer he prevaricates, the better chance the Queen has for escape or rescue - but the passing moments could be draining away Aramis' life blood. Where were Porthos and d'Artagnan? Perhaps Gallagher's men have thwarted their return to Paris...
"What kind of Musketeer would I be if allowed you to take the Queen?"
Gallagher is quick with his reply, "One who's not ready to die." He cannot be sure that Athos' pistol, trained on his chest, is not loaded. The gunman narrows his eyes, a twist of his lips driving up Athos' heartbeat as he recognises the other man's confidence return. "When this began," he says slowly, "I claimed that one of us would die - but perhaps I had it wrong." Gallagher swings his pistol down to point at Aramis. "Step aside." His eyes remain on Athos - staring him down - daring him to risk his friend's life.
Athos' gaze follows the motion of the weapon. Aramis' hand twitches - an involuntary response to staring down the barrel of a gun. But there is no firearm to reach for, no escape should the man fire in that enclosed space. Aramis breathes heavily, his wide eyes full of warning. "Athos - do not-"
Athos does not react at first, clenching his jaw. Their ruse is ended. The time gained by this banter is not worth the risk of provoking Gallagher's ire - and the Irishman would soon lose patience. He turns back to address the gunman. "My friend needs medical attention. If I step aside, you will see that his wounds are seen to." Athos gives his terms as a command, but knows their bargaining power is lost. He can feel Aramis' eyes boring into his back, begging him not to surrender their position yet.
Gallagher's mouth quirks at the nerve of his opponent. "We shall see," he says, and there is no mercy in his tone.
Slowly, Athos lowers his gun - lets it fall with a soft thud to the sandy floor and kicks it across the sand towards the group of men. Gallagher stoops to retrieve it, and Athos shares a look of grim satisfaction with the gunman as he discovers that the Musketeer's weapon had not been loaded.
Gallagher appraises Athos with both begrudging respect and increased caution, then cocks his head with a silent order. His men barrell forwards, and Athos can't help but stiffen as gloved hands grip his upper arms and slam him face first against the stone wall of the chamber. His breath leaves his body as he is crushed against the wall - his right wrist slammed repeatedly against the stone to force his sword from his hand. Pain spasms up his arm and he curls his fingers into fists.
"Hold him," Gallaher warns, and Athos feels his own main gauche drawn and the sharp press of steel against his lower back. The vulnerability of the position is humiliating, and he welcomes the distraction of the cold stone against his cheek. Gallagher's footsteps crunch in the sand behind, and he waits, blind, for the inevitable moment when the man discovers their deception.
"She's not here!" Gallagher's curses are followed by a scuffle, and a pained cry. It was too much to hope that the man would leave them be and continue his search. Muffled words follow, and Athos can make out little as more sounds of brutality break out from behind.
If that's how I deal with my own men, imagine what I'll do with you.
Gallagher's words at their first meeting return to Athos with stark clarity, and his impotent position is suddenly suffocating and intolerable.
"Aramis!" Athos' breath is short from the weight pressing him to the wall. Unthinking, he drives his heel into one of his captor's knees, and feels the pressure on his back ease. Turning inwards and using the wall as leverage, he throws a punch over his left shoulder. His knuckles glance off the jaw of the man still holding him, but he knows at once that his blow lacked power. The large man slackens his grip but does not let go, and twists Athos' arm up behind until he chokes out a sound, fearing dislocation or worse.
As another man seizes his free arm, footsteps approach and a heavy blow to the side of the head sends him reeling. The men do not let him fall with the impact of the blow, and instead he sags, disorientated, and draws in deep breaths until his vision returns.
He opens his eyes to the sight of Gallagher wiping blood from the butt of his gun before jamming it back into his belt. The side of his face burns, and his left eye is difficult to open. Through blurred vision he seeks for Aramis, for reassurance that he yet lives - but the other man is curled protectively upon the floor of the chamber, unmoving. Do not leave me here alone - he thinks suddenly - selfishly - do not lay another life - the best of lives - on this pitiful conscience.
Gallagher's hat is askew and his usually controlled features dark. He approaches deliberately and gasps the back of Athos' head, pulling it back to expose his throat to the flat of a blade. Athos recognises the distinctive hilt of his own dagger, and resists the impulse to pull back from the steel. It is strange how a blade inspires so much more visceral promise of pain that a firearm.
"Where is she?" The slightly crazed look in the man's eyes is mirrored by Athos' own as Gallagher brings his face close to the Musketeer's. The gunman lives for his mission, and they have thwarted him.
Athos grits his reply out between clenched teeth, fearful of moving his jaw against the sharp knife edge. He can already feel warm drops of blood seeping down the neck of his shirt. "She is gone. You will not find her."
Gallagher breaths out through his nose. He speaks to his men, but doesn't break his gaze. "Search the abbey. If you find nothing - search the grounds."
Athos cannot turn his head to check how many men have departed, but footsteps quickly obey Gallagher's orders, echoing up the stairs and into the other levels of the building. If they could just turn the tables now, they might have an even chance.
Gallagher shakes him, drawing his attention back to his burning stare. "What is the Queen to you that you should die here, forgotten?
Athos does not often let himself question his duty - to do so would be to unravel the tenuous peace he has found - his reason to rise each morning. But nor is he blind to Louis' foibles and vanity - his power to inflict suffering and neglect. But Anne - young and naive, yes - but also the steadfast, compassionate hand behind the throne, is worthy of any drop of blood spilt in her protection.
When he gives no reply, Gallagher's lips twist into mockery. "Perhaps you've been bedding her? Or maybe she has been whoring herself out to the pretty one?" The watching men snicker as Gallagher indicates Aramis, but Gallagher's eyes remain cold. "Why give your lives to protect her?"
Athos calculates the voices of at least three men still remaining. He tries to ignore the sharp pain of the man's fingers tangled in his hair, and thinks of the tenderness between his old friend and the Queen. Not some sordid liaison but two souls seeking comfort - and knows the Irishman underestimates the ties that bind them together - having no such loyalties himself. Perhaps what he himself might have become without his brothers to keep him to duty and hope.
"Honour," he drawls disdainfully - provokingly, and takes a last look towards Aramis, expecting the cold bite of steel at his throat. It will be justice, perhaps, for his own past failings - but he hopes he has not left his friend to die here alone in the darkness.
Aramis is struggling - and failing - to lift himself. Beneath the blood dripping down his face, his eyes burn with the determination to act. Athos cannot see, but perhaps they are no longer outnumbered. Perhaps help is at hand.
The dagger is suddenly drawn away from his neck, leaving a stinging line in its wake. But even as he acknowledges the temporary reprieve, Gallagher shifts and sinks the point of the blade into the soft flesh at his shoulder.
"I'm not given to cruelty." Gallagher is speaking - but his own breath is suddenly loud in Athos' ears - and the gunman is holding him firmly in place as he slowly forces the blade deeper. "But you forfeited your chance of a merciful death when you set foot inside the convent."
Pain does not initially take hold. He sees Aramis' mouth open wordlessly, and the slow heat is spreading down his arm. As Gallagher releases him, the men let him slip to his knees. It's the sight of the dagger still lodged in the wound that darkens the corners of his vision, and he fights the tipping world only long enough to hear the gunman's words.
"An old friend sends her regards."
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Chapter title: En prise - chess term (French) - unpotected and exposed to capture