Title: Blood Will Have Blood
Author: JenF
Disclaimer: I do not own The Three Musketeers, d'Artagnan, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine. I'm just having fun


The letter burns a metaphorical hole in Athos' pocket as he strides down the alley to The Seven Stars. It's not the best establishment in Paris but it's warm and friendly and it's where he knows he'll find at least one of his comrades. Treville's orders to only tell those with whom he trusts his life has made his task easy – there are only three men who truly fit that description.

Forcing his way through the crowd, he seeks out the familiar figures of his compatriots. The raucous laughter from a group of men settled round a table in the corner draws his eye. Even through the gloom it takes Athos only seconds to make out the unmistakable figure of Porthos gathering up another hand of cards and, presumably, another handful of dubious winnings.

He claps his hand down on Porthos' shoulder just in time to prevent him taking another bet and shakes his head at him.

"No time, my friend," he tells him, scanning the rest of the tavern for any sign of Aramis or d'Artagnan.

Porthos rises instantly, nodding either thanks or regrets to his card-playing companions, Athos isn't sure which. He never wearies of the way any one of them will drop everything at just a look or a word.

"Where are the others?" Athos asks once they're back out in the alley.

Porthos shrugs. "d'Artagnan will be in the tender embrace of Mme Bonacieux if he's any sense and Aramis will be in the tender embrace of whoever caught his eye tonight."

"We need to find them." Athos wastes no time, turning on his heel and heading to the Bonacieux residence. He doesn't need to look to see whether Porthos is following him or not. He knows the other musketeer is full of questions but he really doesn't want to go through this three times.

The night is fresh and they come across several revellers and drunkards but everyone seems to be in good spirits and they reach their destination unimpeded. Constance's home is in darkness and Athos feels a very brief twinge of guilt as he raises his hand to knock on the door. Both he and Porthos know that M. Bonacieux is away and that d'Artagnan and Constance get so little time together. However, he muses, time is of the essence and he knows both the young lovers will understand that. With a silent apology he hammers on the door.

They seem to wait an age before there are sounds from inside the house. Athos can just make out a female voice, which he assumes belongs to Constance, followed by the deeper tones of d'Artagnan. He and Porthos wait while it feels like a thousand locks and bolts are released before they come face to face with a slightly dishevelled d'Artagnan.

"Who is it?" Constance's voice rings out from down the hallway.

d'Artagnan blinks a few times, clearly still letting his eyes adjust to the darkness outside.

"Athos?" he queries. "Porthos? What are you doing here?"

"They're standing there getting cold." Constance bustles past d'Artagnan and flings the door wide open. "Don't just stand there," she commands the two men standing on her doorstep. "Come in and shut the cold out." Turning on her heel she stomps off towards the kitchen.

"My apologies, Madame," Athos begins, hoping she can hear him, "but we cannot linger. We merely came to retrieve d'Artagnan as we have business that must be taken care of."

There is a brief moment of silence before the sound of her footsteps can be heard retracing her steps. She stops in the doorway between the kitchen and hallway, hands on hips and Athos is momentarily glad not to be in d'Artagnan's shoes tonight. She is, he reflects, a formidable woman and one with whom he glad to be friends.

"Business?" she exclaims. "At this time of night? Have you nothing better to do because I can assure you that most normal people do!"

Athos isn't sure – the light is against him after all – but he's fairly sure d'Artagnan is blushing.

The younger man turns his back on the two musketeers outside and raises his arms in, what Athos assumes is a placatory gesture. "It's alright, Constance," he says. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

Athos risks a look at Porthos and, as he had expected, his comrade has a wide grin on his face. They're both men of the world and they are both aware of what they have most probably interrupted. However, Athos cannot feel too much guilt when he thinks of the reason for this disruption to d'Artagnan's evening.

There's a distinct huff from Constance before she nods and tells d'Artagnan to go. He hugs her as he scurries off to retrieve outdoor wear. Athos and Porthos wait patiently.

"I hope," Constance tells them, "that this is warranted. You're lucky my husband is away – he doesn't take kindly to these late night calls."

"Our business is of the highest importance, Madame," Athos assures her. "Again, I apologise for the inconvenience."

He's spared any further berating by d'Artagnan's arrival, now fully prepared for the weather outside. They wait while he takes his farewell of Madame Bonacieux before heading back to the Musketeers' garrison.

They are barely feet from the Bonacieux residence before d'Artagnan bombards Athos with a thousand questions. They're questions Athos was expecting from the youngster, if not from Porthos who has much more experience of these assignments, but he's reluctant to answer them before they find the fourth member of their team.

That, and the fact that the streets in this part of Paris, whilst not on a par with the Court, are not the first place Athos would chose to wander round at this time of night.

If Athos were a believer in superstitions this is the point he would suggest jinxed the rest of the night for the trio. If he hadn't thought it, he supposes, it wouldn't have happened.

The attack, when it comes, is swift, unexpected and remarkably ill thought out. d'Artagnan is halfway through yet another question, this time concerning the whereabouts of their missing brother, when Athos senses something isn't quite right. He thinks it's the shadow Porthos is casting. He's a large man, but not that large. And he doesn't have three arms.

It's this revelation that has Athos drawing his sword while sweeping d'Artagnan out of the way with his free hand. He barely has time register his mentee's safety before his sword meets that of their attacker full on. The clash of metal meeting metal sends reverberations down his arm and it takes all his skill and determination not to lose his grip.

The sound is incongruous with the quiet of the night air but Athos has no time to dwell on poetics. He can see the man coming round for a second try. He raises his sword again and spins on his heel, driving the blade of his sword down on that of his opponent. He can hear Porthos helping d'Artagnan to his feet but he has this in hand and they appear to be leaving him to it.

He takes advantage of the fact that his sword is currently holding down that of his adversary and grabs for the man's wrist, twisting his arm and forcing his hold on his weapon to weaken until Athos can easily pull it out of his grip, flinging it to one side where, he notes with satisfaction, Porthos stoops easily to retrieve it.

Athos leans forward, resting his sword across the throat of the man beneath him.

"Who are you?" he asks.

But the man seems to be in no mood to share and simply struggles vainly. Athos sighs and applies more pressure to his sword. Finally the man ceases to move and simply glares at the musketeer.

"I don't think he wants to talk," Porthos comments, twirling the man's sword carelessly round in one hand.

"I ask again," Athos repeats, "who are you?" But still he is met with only a sullen silence. "Very well," he says. "Let's start with an easier question. Why did you attack us? What is it you want?"

The silence that greets his questions is beginning to wear thin and Athos has other things to command his attention right now. He hauls the man upright. In his heart all he wants to do is dispatch this man to the local prison so that they can continue their search for Aramis but deep down he worries that this is far too much of a coincidence. His head, by which his actions are usually governed, is telling him that this man has something to do with Treville's troubles.

He toys with the idea of simply beating the information out of the man but he is still a nobleman and he doesn't believe they are quite at that stage yet. When, if, the time comes he will let the soldier in him take over but for now he prefers other strategies.

He releases the man's arm, secretly pleased when he loses any semblance of balance and falls to the muddy ground.

"I have no time for petty thieves such as you," Athos hisses, leaning over the man. "Go and never let me see your face again, for I will not be so forgiving next time."

The man scrambles backwards and gains his feet. He glares at the three musketeers before turning and fleeing down the alley.

"Athos?" Porthos rumbles. "You just let him go? Just like that? He didn't answer any of your questions."

Athos straightens up and looks at his brothers. They look confused and he can't blame them. He has a reputation of being fair, not a push over, and clearly neither Porthos nor d'Artagnan was expecting him to release the man.

"We will learn more from him this way," he answers. "d'Artagnan, follow him but don't be seen. He's simply a servant. We need to find his master and whoever that is, he is not willing to give him up easily."

d'Artagnan nods and turns, about to leave when Athos grasps his arm.

"Be careful," he warns. "Don't be seen – just watch. The people he is running to are probably very dangerous."