Chapter 2: The Art of Justice
"For vengeance is an emptiness, and he that seeketh it wasteth himself." – Jeffrey Farnol
The tavern 'Le bouclier rouillé', Paris, 1656
„Which one would you like to hear?" Brujon asked and lifted his head to look at Verde. The boy looked up to his father, obviously very nervous. His eyes were begging his father for something Brujon could not understand.
"Am I missing something?" Brujon queried and pointed at Gaulier and his son. The younger musketeer just shook his head and sighed at the sight of his pleading son.
"I've told him a lot. But there is one story he's been begging to learn about for weeks now. I told you I can't, Verde." He looked at his son with a stern expression on his face.
"Which one is it?" Brujon wanted to know, his voice curious.
Verde looked up to him shyly.
"Father said something about the three of them keeping their pasts very much to themselves. I wondered if … maybe you would…you know…"
"Oh, I do know," Brujon answered kindly. "And trust me when I say they had their reasons not to talk about it too much."
Rissé sipped at his drink. "From what I heard, they all had their fair share of demons haunting them from their different pasts."
Brujon raised an eyebrow. "Indeed they did. But they had to face these demons every now and again."
He noticed Verde looking at him expectantly.
"But this time, they had each other to rely on."
On the road to Paris, 1632
"I'm telling you, it would be a win for everybody!" Aramis declared.
Porthos snorted. "You would be the only one benefitting from it."
Aramis rolled his eyes and arched an eyebrow.
"Really? 'cause I think we all would like Athos better if he'd just leave it to me."
Athos, riding in the front, growled indignantly.
"For the last time, Aramis, I'm not giving you my wine."
"Again," Aramis tried and brought his horse up to Athos'. "We all prefer you sober and I am in desperate need of it."
"How can alcohol ease the pain in your shoulder?" Porthos wanted to know and appeared on Athos' other side.
Athos just groaned. They've been having the discussion for at least ten minutes now, but he was not ready yet to give in.
Aramis was granting Porthos a piercing look, apparently a little disappointed Porthos' didn't have his back on this one.
"I see nothing else here that could help with it. Besides, Athos, you owe it to me!"
Now it was Athos' turn to be offended.
"I owe it to you?" he repeated, dangerously slow.
Aramis nodded his head vigorously. "You do. Could we stop fighting now and could you please just give me what's left of your wine."
Athos tightened his grip on the reins and tilted his head to the side to glare at Aramis.
"It's not my fault you fell off your horse," Athos commented dryly and steered his gaze back on the road. He could hear Aramis drawing in a deep breath to protest.
It was Porthos who jumped in with an explanation first.
"Well, to be fair, Athos, it was your pistol shot that spooked Aramis' horse."
Athos could feel the look of Porthos' warm and calm eyes on him.
"I was trying to get your attention," Athos shot back and turned towards Aramis again.
Aramis grasped his reins with only one hand and massaged his shoulder with the other one. "Well, you succeeded. Next time, perhaps calling my name would suffice, my dear friend."
Athos shrugged and sighed heavily, before he reached into his saddlebags with his right hand and tossed his bottle of wine over to Aramis, who caught it with ease.
"As if that ever worked out. Here, you go, you idiot. But if you fall off your horse because you drank too much, I'm going to leave you there in the dust and you can walk back to Paris."
Aramis rolled his eyes and shook the bottle to check how much was left of the liquid.
"It's not like you left enough in there that a man could actually become drunk," he said and ducked his head in order to escape Athos' gaze of hate.
"Maybe I should just whack you over the head with the bottle next time," Athos murmured under his breath but he received nothing but laughter from his two friends.
"Make sure d'Artagnan is there then," Porthos interjected with a smug grin on his face. "So that the whelp finally has something to annoy Aramis with."
"The entertainment of our youngest member is not exactly my priority," Athos responded grumpily and tried to urge his horse to a faster pace in order to escape the conversation.
"Oh, I envy him," Porthos said dreamingly. "The pup gets to breathe the Paris-air and he gets to drink the good wine of Parisian taverns, while I am stuck here in the middle of nowhere with you two."
Aramis snorted doubtfully and emptied Athos' bottle of wine. "I don't know if that's something you should be jealous of. The poor lad was knocked out in an attempt to catch a thief who stole some livres from Madame Bonacieux and is now put on stable duty by Tréville."
"Yes," Porthos retorted. "But in Paris."
"An unfortunate accident," Athos threw in from the front. "I'm sure he'll be with us on our next mission. Hopefully, because just the two of you is getting really hard to endure."
"Oh just admit it, Athos," Porthos said and Athos could almost hear him smiling triumphantly. "It would get boring without us."
"Imagine the silence…," Aramis added, but he sounded as if his mind was somewhere else.
A warning sign for Athos, no matter how annoying his friends were occasionally. The swordsman turned around to look Aramis, who was staring at his horses' neck, but he looked exerted, his brow furrowed.
"What is it?" Athos asked matter-of-factly, their bantering from earlier forgotten at an instant.
Aramis just raised his hand to signal him to stop talking. Athos complied, listening closely in the hope that he would catch whatever distracted Aramis at the moment. His hearing wasn't as sharp as Aramis', but he was also aware of the sounds that worried his friend.
Athos watched Aramis' face, and slight panic got a hold of him when his friend's eyes shot up suddenly and alarm reflected in his dark eyes.
"Move!" he yelled and grasped his reins to urge his horse into a gallop, but the clang of metal and the movement of guns being drawn told them they were already too late.
Four riders appeared, two in front of them on the road and one from each side.
"Don't!" one of them snarled at Porthos whose hand darted towards his pistol. The tall musketeer froze in the motion, before he raised his hand in defense.
Judging from the noises to his right, Athos guessed Aramis had done something similar. He looked to the side just in time to see that Aramis was about to fire, but the pistol was torn out of his hands before he was able to use it. The attacker wrenched the weapon out of Aramis' hands and used it to knock him out of the saddle.
Aramis landed on the ground with a soft thud, and he immediately tried to get back on his feet.
"Not again," he groaned as his right hand clutched his bruised shoulder. Before he was able to do anything, the attacker held a gun to his head.
"Don't move."
Aramis looked annoyed, but he eventually raised his hands in defeat.
Athos, who had two guns leveled at him, stared at the newcomers with an ice cold glare.
"Good evening, gentlemen," one of them, a short man with long, curly hair greeted them. "We're very sorry to disturb you."
"I somehow doubt that," Porthos murmured.
The man shot the musketeer a pointing look, but didn't comment.
"Just state your business," Athos growled menacingly, staring angrily at the man who had spoken.
"What is it, huh?" Porthos asked. "We're currently not carrying anything valuable. If that's what you hope to gain here, you should've ambushed us two days ago."
"Oh, but it's not gold we're after," the man in question explained with a disgustingly soothing tone in his voice. His gaze found Athos.
"Comte de la Fère. Long time no see."
"Oh great, who did you piss of this time, Athos?" Aramis threw in unnecessarily. Athos ignored him.
"I would say it's a pleasure, but I'm in quite a hurry to get back to my duty at the moment and don't have time for respectful lies."
The man managed a crooked grin. "Then I fear it has to wait. Jean sends me."
Athos maintained an indifferent expression. "Who?"
The stranger broke out into a bellowing laugh, a creepy and rattling sound.
"Wow, you don't even remember him? He's going to be furious."
To his left, Athos heard Porthos chuckle dryly.
"Yeah, it's not like one in three persons is named Jean in this country."
The attacker's laugh broke off, but he didn't bestow as much as a glance at the tall musketeer.
"Jean Duveau. Does the family name ring a bell?"
Duveau. Athos remembered that name. And the memory of it made his heart drop, as he knew exactly what was going to happen next. His face seemed to have betrayed him, because the leader now grinned contently.
"Ah, that's what I thought. So," his horse made a step forward and he gave a signal to his two men who were holding Porthos and Aramis at gunpoint. "I apologize for dragging you musketeers into this personal affair. I have a huge amount of respect for your work, but I fear you two are risks I cannot afford to take." He waved with his pistol into Porthos' direction.
"Get off your horse, Goliath," he ordered and received a sour glare from Porthos, who hesitantly did as he was told.
Fear crept over Athos' skin. He had a vivid idea of what Duveau's men were going to do with him, but what were they going to do with his comrades?
Porthos dismounted slowly, and was forced to hand over his pistol.
"Leave them out of this, you bastards," Athos ordered as loudly as his voice could manage. Their leader just rolled his eyes.
"Easy, Comte, no need to be rude. We're not as cruel as you were."
Anger welled up in Athos, but he managed to hide it behind a mask of indifference.
"What's he talking about, Athos?" Porthos asked, with actual worry in his voice.
But Athos didn't answer. He just kept throwing daggers at the leader with the power of a single look.
"Now," the man began and gave his two fellows a signal.
Accompanied by Aramis' loud protest and an infuriated yell from Porthos, the men hit the two riderless horses with their rapiers hard against the legs.
The animals nickered loudly before they jumped up in the air and took off down the road, the sound of their hooves fading the more distance they brought between themselves and their owners.
"That's your master plan?" Aramis, who now looked at the leader with a mixture of impatience and annoyance, asked. "Make us walk to kill you?"
Athos prayed that Aramis would just shut up. But apparently, that was too much to ask.
"You see," Aramis explained. "I'm a fast runner. And my friend here," and he motioned towards Porthos, "had the physical endurance of a bull."
The leader just shrugged Aramis' words off.
"I have no quarrel with the two of you," the man now said. "Go your ways; resume your duties in Paris. But Comte de la Fère is coming with us."
"May I ask why?" Athos asked as diplomatic as possible, but barely received their attention.
"You are charged with betrayal. You are charged with murder. Duveau will make you answer for your crimes."
Athos, who knew exactly what all of this was about, hinted a grin.
"I fear his hunger for revenge has clouded his judgment," Athos explained calmly.
"How about you shut up until we arrive at Duveau's?"
One of the men brought his horse up next to Athos and relieved him of his weapons, keeping the pistol close to his head. He then tied the reins to the saddle of the man they were holding the conversation with.
"I'd advise you not to follow us," the leader now spoke and pushed his horse into motion, bringing Athos' horse along with it. "Or I'll plant a bullet in your friend's head."
"Oh, no need to make empty threats, right?" Athos commented sourly as his horse was brought along with his captors.
As he passed Aramis, their gazes met. Athos was the only one who was able to see the icy determination and resolution in Aramis' eyes, as they were covered by indifference and hate as a trick to cover his concern.
"We'll get you for this." Athos closed his eyes as he heard Porthos' voice behind him, it was low but the words were clearly understood. He sighed. Porthos didn't know that this was the one step that was too far.
The leader stopped again, casting a glance back and noticing the way Porthos and Aramis were both looking at Athos. He grimaced.
"I really wanted to let you two go. You have done nothing wrong."
"Not yet," Aramis growled and Athos wanted to smack his head for his devotion. Honorable, but it could cost him his life.
"I'm a trustworthy man, but you two apparently aren't," the leader declared and shook his head in dismay. "When you go to Paris to get reinforcements….no…that's a risk I can't take."
It sounded as if he was speaking more to himself than to anyone else.
He returned his attention to Athos and the way they were about to go.
"Renard, Pichet!" he called over his shoulder and two men who aimed their weapons at Aramis and Porthos reacted by looking up to their leader.
The man grinned before he urged his horse into a fast trot.
"Kill them."
Athos' fear was no longer concealed. He flinched in his saddle and was about to just jump off the horse and take his chances, when he felt the cold metal of the barrel pressed against his temple as another henchman approached from behind.
"Don't think I wouldn't," he snarled into Athos' ear. "It would mean one less murderer in this world."
Athos' features were hard like stone.
"You just created two more."
Suddenly, all he could see was the angry face of the attacker, a sharp sound of metal hitting bones, and then he felt the cold ground before everything turned black.
He was unconscious when the two pistol shots echoed through the forest.
Next thing Athos was aware of was a constant ringing, a steady pounding sensation behind his ears and the disgusting feeling of ropes cutting open his skin.
His lips were dry, and his lids heavy. It took him a lot of time to remember what had happened.
The Comte de la Fère. A man who still brought a lot of troubles into Athos' life.
And he remembered. The words that had sent him over the edge.
Kill them.
Porthos and Aramis. Executed by a couple of bandits in the middle of a godforsaken forest, only a few miles away from Paris. They've been so close to home, so close to the safety of Paris.
They did not deserve this. But Athos could not grasp what has happened, his mind not able to form a proper thought.
Now he slowly started to realize where he was, and in what situation he was. He was tied to a chair, one that felt as if it could collapse any second. He could smell fresh air, and he could hear the soft rushing of waves brushing against stone.
Which meant, he was most likely outside, probably near the lake he and his comrades passed a few hours earlier.
He sluggishly opened his eyes. His sight was blurred, but he was sure it was still daylight. He was able to make out the blurred outlines of three men, one leaning against a large tree-trunk, the others were crouching down in front of Athos.
"Rise and shine, sunshine," one of them greeted him, and Athos recognized him as the leader from earlier.
Athos shifted on the chair, glaring at the leader with cold, pale eyes.
"Where are my comrades?" he asked, his voice unusually low and raspy.
The leader was playing with a knife in his hands, the blade slipping through his fingers just so the other hand could catch it. It made Athos even more uncomfortable.
The man sighed overdramatically and suddenly rammed the knife into the ground.
"You see, I wanted to let them go. But I fear their heroic behavior and their threats towards me cost them their lives."
Athos tried to jump up from the chair, but the bindings were strong as iron chains. He threw himself against them, but another man restrained him from behind, punching him hard against the jaw.
Athos could feel the blood gathering in his mouth and spit it out in disgust, before he returned his gaze at the leader, breathing heavily.
"I'm going to kill you," he growled and received another punch that sent his head snapping sideways.
"See?" the leader spoke, his voice hysterically high. "Those were the exact words that sealed your comrade's doom. But don't worry, there are other things you need to face now."
Athos said nothing, he just stared at the men with hate glistering in his eyes, looking like a caged animal.
"Alright, alright, enough!" the third man from the background finally declared and approached slowly. He was a tall and slim man, his dirty blonde hair hanging over his shoulders, his face cleanly shaven. He had dark, somber eyes, almost black and radiating a certain sadness. Dark circles formed under his eyes, which underlined his shabby appearance.
It was hard, but Athos eventually recognized this man. The name was burning on his tongue, but he swallowed hard and just continued to stare at them.
This was Jean Duveau. A name that had haunted the Comte de la Fère for years, and a face he had never been able to forget. Not even when he became Athos.
"Comte de la Fère," Duveau addressed him with a sneering tone in his voice, very similar to Athos'. "Or should I say Athos?"
Athos rolled his eyes. "Whatever makes you happy," he replied stiffly.
Duveau ignored his comment.
"You cannot imagine how long I've been waiting for this moment. You are hard to catch alone. I'm sorry about your friends, but they left us no choice."
"You underestimate them," he simply said.
Duveau laughed, and he very much resembled a hyena. Or at least that's what Athos imagined a hyena would sound like.
"As much respect as I have for the musketeers, but they're not bulletproof. But I am not here to talk about your friends. I'm here in the name of justice."
Athos snorted scornfully. "You're mistaking justice with vengeance, Duveau."
Duveau ignored him again, but the man who had led the attack on his friends didn't miss the opportunity to punch Athos against his temple for his truculence.
"Comte de la Fère, my former liege lord. You stand accused of betraying your duties as a Comte and murdering my brother, Antoine Duveau. How do you answer these charges?"
Athos took a second to let the words sink in. And, as ridiculous as it might seem, he could barely hold back a desperate laughter.
"You have lost your mind, Duveau."
"How do you answer these charges?" the man repeated and took a step forward, his tall figure towering over Athos' shackled form.
"Not guilty." If this was the way things were supposed to go, Athos could as well just play the game.
The answer came in another, heavy punch, and Athos felt his lips split and the blood running down his chin.
"That's what I thought. You're going to confess your crimes." Duveau stood up straight, his face distorted with madness. "You're going to confess what you did to my brother, and then we'll see how justice serves."
"Alright, gentlemen, this is not how it needs to go."
Aramis was talking to their future executioners, while watching with one eye how Athos was knocked out. He and his captors disappeared very quickly.
"I'm afraid I have my orders," one of them answered.
"Yes, and I have mine," Aramis answered cautiously, catching Porthos' confused look with his eye. "My orders are to return to my Captain this evening and report back to him. Getting killed would cause an enormous…delay."
"You would get reinforcements. A risk we cannot take," the man answered, but Aramis thought he saw a hint of uncertainty in the man's eyes. Porthos noticed that too.
So he caught up with Aramis' strategy and walked up to the man who had his pistol aimed at him. The man raised his weapon, his eyes wide open.
"Stay where you are," he stuttered, but Porthos didn't care and stopped about two feet in front of him.
Aramis did the same. He approached the second man, who, contrary to Porthos' opponent, just stared at him with an ice cold expression.
"Those are my pistols," Aramis commented dryly and motioned towards the weapons aimed at them.
"I am sorry, musketeers," the man in front of Aramis said, and he was sure to hear sincere pity. "I have my orders."
Before Aramis was able to retort something clever, he heard the promising, but short fighting noises to his left and when he turned his head to check on Porthos, he spotted the tall musketeer behind his attacker, holding the young, frightened man at gunpoint.
Aramis' opponent didn't hesitate for a long time and aimed at Aramis' head.
"One wrong move and your friend here pays for it," he threatened.
Porthos didn't even blink.
"Put the gun down," he growled menacingly. "I don't have any inhibitions to do what's necessary."
"None of us has to die here," Aramis tried calmly and raised a placating hand. "We're not going to harm you if you surrender."
"Renard, please," the man held in the headlock by Porthos whimpered. He was barely more than a child. Neither Aramis nor Porthos wished to harm them.
"Lower your weapon, musketeer!" Renard yelled, but he too sounded as if he wasn't sure about this.
"Screw it!" Porthos cursed and used his weapon. There was a loud bang and the ball found its way into the upper arm of Renard, just above the elbow. Renard screamed and let go of his pistol, which Aramis dived for immediately and snatched it out of the man's reach, before he pinned him to the ground.
Aramis exchanged a quick look with Porthos, before he raised his pistol up high and fired another shot up in the air, so that Athos' captor, who was probably still within earshot, would be fooled to think the two musketeers have been executed.
Aramis couldn't help but grin.
"I am sorry," he now hissed into the attacker's ear, "But you left us no choice."
Unfortunately, the attacker's horses had fled as soon as Porthos had used his pistol, and the two animals now disappeared behind the trees.
Ten minutes later, Porthos and Aramis had tied the two men to a tree, using the rope one of them had carried with him. Aramis had taken care of the gunshot wound in Renard's arm, and the bandage seemed to hold and the bleeding wasn't too bad.
"Where have they taken Athos?" Porthos wasn't asking nicely. He was worried about his brother, and with every minute the two didn't open their mouths, Athos fate became more uncertain.
"Who?" Renard now answered shortly, and he sounded honestly confused.
Aramis rolled his eyes. "The Comte de la Fère. Where have they taken him?"
"And why?" Porthos added, narrowing his eyes.
Renard sighed and avoided to look at them, but Pichet, the young man who looked insanely scared, twitched his muscles as if he'd wanted to say something.
"Spit it out boy, I don't want to do this the hard way," Porthos commanded, waving with his pistol into Pichet's direction.
"You keep your mouth shut!" Renard said, but didn't seem too convinced with these words himself.
"Will you let us live then?" Pichet asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Pichet!" Renard warned but Aramis was able to shut him up with a glare.
"We will," Porthos promised, kneeling down in front of the man. "You have our word. And we are men of honor."
Pichet bit his lip, but eventually nodded. Renard beside him let his head fall back against the tree dramatically.
"The man who pays us…," he started, his voice quivering with fear.
"Duveau?" Porthos interjected.
Pichet nodded.
"He wants to have his vengeance. De la Fère executed his brother several years ago when you know…he was still a Comte. Antoine was his name, and de la Fère executed him after Antoine had been accused of murder."
"So, he did his duty?" Aramis wanted to know. "Executing murderers is within the duty of the landlord. Athos would never kill someone if he could avoid it."
Pichet swallowed nervously. "That's not how Jean sees it. All he sees is the man who murdered his brother."
"And what does he plan to do to Ath…de la Fère?" Porthos queried.
Pichet pressed his lips together, and this time, pity shone from his clear, blue eyes.
"I don't think you would want to know."
Aramis groaned.
"My patience is at its limits. Where have they taken him?" he asked, trying hard to cover the anger in his voice.
Pichet's breath hitched, he was staring at Aramis, looking terrified.
Renard sighed.
"The lake. We have a camp there. In eastern direction."
"Oh, now you talk?" Porthos spat while he was reattaching his pistol to his weapon belt.
Renard shrugged. "We failed to follow Duveau's orders. We aren't gonna see any money anyway."
Aramis raised an eyebrow. "How honorable," he commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The marksman then put on his hat and grinned at the two men.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
He then turned on the heel and left them there by the tree, hearing Porthos following closely behind him.
"Hey what about us?" they heard Pichet shouting.
"You gave us your word!" Renard insisted.
"Yes, we did!" Porthos shouted back, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "And as far as I can see, you are still alive. If what you told us about Duveau turns out to be true, we will come back for you."
Aramis didn't even bother to turn around, he just waved with his pistol as a way of saying goodbye.
"That was…close," he heard Porthos murmur next to him. Aramis grimaced.
"Yes, but we live. Now, we should get to Athos as soon as possible. Any idea where our horses might've gone?"
Porthos shrugged. "We can follow the road, maybe the loyal beasts didn't run that far."
Aramis grunted as confirmation, keeping a fast pace.
"I'm really getting pissed by now," he growled. "We were so close to home, to warm beds and fresh wine!"
Porthos squeezed his uninjured shoulder in sympathy.
"I know my friend. But some shadows still linger in the present. Unfortunately, Athos has to experience it firsthand."
Aramis briefly closed his eyes, before he looked up to Porthos.
"We're not going to leave him there," he said. It was a statement, not a question.
Porthos shook his head in agreement, and his face lit up as he spotted something around the corner.
"Good news," he stated and suddenly started running. "The Garrison not only has loyal musketeers."
He threw a smug grin at Aramis.
"The animals didn't leave us either."
"Do you deny that you killed Antoine, my younger brother, eight years ago in cold blood?" Duveau asked again, holding Athos' bloody chin up with his hand.
Athos withstood the man's look, arching an eyebrow.
"No."
"So you admit that you are guilty?"
"I'm not."
Duveau sighed.
"Listen here, Comte," he spat and forced Athos' head up so the musketeer could see the expression of pure hate on his captor's face. "If you think there is a way for you out of this, you are mistaken. But admitting the murder could spare you a lot of pain."
Duveau gave the signal and one of the mercenaries landed two punches against Athos' ribs. It drew all air out of his lungs and he gasped, struggling to take in the air.
"I did kill your brother, Duveau. But I did not murder him. It was my duty as a Comte to punish the criminals living on my land."
"He was an innocent, pure soul!" Duveau screamed and Athos had to take another, heavy hit against the jaw. The strike was so hard it sent Athos sideways and to the ground, together with the chair he was bound to.
Athos groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to breathe regularly against the pain that spread through his face and ribs.
Two of Duveau's henchmen pulled the chair back up, together with Athos on it.
"I will break you, de la Fère!" Duveau declared, his voice high in his madness. "I will make you yield to me. Unless you confess."
"What?" Athos growled, honestly offended by now. "That I ordered your brother's death? That I, as the Comte, decided he had to be punished for his crimes?"
"What did he do that he needed to be punished so hard?" the 'leader' from earlier spoke. "Duveau told us that Antoine stole jewels that had been in your family's possession. A thief doesn't need to be executed!"
"You could've shown mercy," another one added.
Athos didn't know what to say for a second, as this explanation was so ridiculous that he almost had to hold back a laugh.
But he decided just to snort in disbelief.
"Duveau is a liar. I wouldn't have executed Antoine for stealing some worthless jewels."
Suddenly, he felt the cold tip of a blade against his neck, and a searing pain when the weapon ever so slightly cut through his skin.
"You did!" Duveau declared. "And you will answer for this!"
Athos sighed.
"Yes, you pointed that out already. Why don't you tell your friends what really happened? They deserve the truth, don't you think?"
He noticed Duveau's features derailing for a split second before the man quickly gathered himself and landed another heavy punch into Athos' already aching ribs.
"What is he talking about, Duveau?" the 'leader' asked reproachfully and let go of Athos, who used the short break to catch his breath.
But the accused man didn't even pay a little attention to his fellow mercenaries, he just kept staring at Athos, his face distorted with anger and what Athos believed to be grief.
"Antoine was a good man."
"He was," Athos admitted. "Until he murdered two of the people who worked at my estate, just to escape with the jewels undetected."
Duveau's lips trembled.
"He admired you!"
"He was a murderer," Athos replied coldly. "I do not need admiration from a man who murdered my friends in cold blood."
Duveau grabbed Athos by the chin, digging his long, dirty fingernails into Athos' skin.
"You condemn my brother, but bedded the woman who murdered your own kin?"
A white flash of anger crossed Athos' mind and he considered hitting his head against Duveau's face, but he decided to stay calm.
"Careful," he warned between clenched, bloodstained teeth.
"What?" Duveau repeated, and his hand wandered down to Athos' throat, enclosing it with his claws. "Can't even face your own truth? You have to pay for what you did to my brother!"
Athos felt the grip around his throat tighten, but he could do nothing but gasp for air.
"So you want vengeance, not justice, Duveau?" one of his men addressed their leader.
Athos heard Duveau snapping back through his clouded mind. "You'll get paid, that's all you should worry about now."
The hold around his throat eventually loosened a little bit, and Athos welcomed every bit of air he was able to catch.
"Where the hell are Renard and Pichet? They should have been back by now, it's not that difficult to kill two men," one of Duveau's mercenaries declared with a hint of panic in his voice.
Athos grinned darkly.
"Musketeers don't die easily."
Duveau giggled, an awfully creepy sound, accompanied by the sheer madness written all over his face.
"You want to test that, Athos?" He spoke the name with so much disgust it made Athos cringe.
"Let's get the facts straight," Athos rasped. "You want to kill me because I have been forced to execute your brother after he committed murder, two times. You want your vengeance."
Duveau said nothing, he just looked at him, breathing heavily in his wrath.
"This still can end differently. Let me go now, and I promise you I won't come after you. I'll pretend this little incident never happened."
"Really?" one of the mercenaries threw in. "After we killed your two brothers-in-arms?"
Athos rolled his eyes.
"In case you haven't noticed, I doubt that your idiot followers were successful. Or why didn't they come back yet?"
He noticed the mercenaries exchanging worried looks, but Duveau had nothing but hate glistering in his cold eyes.
"I waited years for this. Years to face Antoine's murderer. You are not taking that away from me!" He screamed in frustration, kicking Athos hard against the shin. "Don't you dare to take that away from me!"
Athos closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was to come. This man could not be reasoned with. For his own sanity, he had tried to get out of this without harming anyone.
"Be smart, Duveau," he tried again, one last time. "My whole regiment will hunt you down. The murder of one of his musketeers is nothing the king is going to take lightly. Kill me, and you're a dead man."
Duveau's face was blank, empty. As he spoke now, it sounded as if it was a dead man talking, his tone devoid of emotion.
"Then I'll die knowing that my brother has been avenged."
"That's a dumb plan," Aramis murmured, his comment almost getting lost in the soft breeze.
Porthos scoffed. "You came up with this like ten minutes ago."
"Doesn't mean the plan is good."
"Well, then you're the only one to blame. This is your idea," Porthos remarked dryly.
"You have a better one?" Aramis wanted to know, whirling around so fast he almost hit Porthos in the face.
"Uh, no?"
"There you go."
Porthos and Aramis were hiding behind some trees near the bank. They had found the horses and easily found the way back to where the lake was.
Renard hadn't lied to them. Even though they were on the opposite site, they were able to clearly make out the camp near the bank of the lake, a short distance away from them.
They had been able to make out Athos, tied to a chair, being beaten by who they thought had to be Duveau.
"Alright, who takes which part?" Aramis asked absent-mindedly, watching nervously how Athos was apparently trying to reason with his captor and received answers in form of different violent acts.
Porthos stared at him in confusion.
"I thought it was obvious," the tall musketeer stuttered nervously.
"No, we just said that one of us will arrange a distraction and set a fire, while the other one approaches through the water, frees Athos and makes an escape with him," Aramis declared impatiently.
Porthos raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, obvious, what did I say?"
Aramis sighed.
"Let me guess, I'll get to go for a swim, right?"
"It was your idea," Porthos defended himself. "And besides, I've always been better with setting things on fire anyway."
Aramis hesitated for another second, his eyes locked on Athos' small figure on the other side of the lake. And by the look of it, their friend was close to being strangled.
"Alright, alright," Aramis finally gave in, taking off his doublet and threw it on the ground. He then drew his two pistols from his belt and held them out to Porthos.
"If you lose them," the marksman began but Porthos cut him off.
"Yes, yes, I know, you'll torment me until and through the afterlife, got it."
"I was going to say you'll wish you never met me," Aramis explained and flashed a childish grin. "But that works too. Come on, get moving, I don't want to stay in here any longer than I have to."
With these words, he waded into the water until it was deep enough to swim. Aramis kept his dagger in his hand, his eyes focused on Athos' distant figure.
"Don't worry, my friend," Porthos assured as he mounted his horse again."I have many abilities, but setting things on fire is definitely one of my strongest ones."
With these words, he urged his horse into a faster pace, and didn't see the murdering glare Aramis bestowed him.
Athos spit out the blood that had gathered in his mouth with disgust. He was blind on one eye, a wound on his forehead was dripping with blood and it had gotten in his eye.
"You'll die avenging a murderer," he hissed at Duveau who was towering over him, the face shadowed by madness and wrath. "I did not want to kill your brother. But it was my duty, and letting a murderer live on my lands was a risk I could not take."
He felt Duveau's clawing grip around his throat again.
"But you let your murderous wife into your bed. Your duty is not an excuse!"
"For what, your murdering brother?" Athos choked out, white, hot anger welling up in him. "He killed Davide and Laurie. Laurie was only sixteen! And he killed her for some worthless jewels!"
"Is that true?" one of Duveau's men wanted to know.
"Duveau!" another one inquired.
"Silence!" Duveau screamed at them and pulled out his dagger.
"Duveau, wait!" one of his men said and stepped up to the madman, but he pushed him back to focus on Athos.
Due to the lack of oxygen, Athos felt like he was close to passing out, but he did not want to give this man any satisfaction. He was a misguided soul, innocent until now, but his desire for vengeance seemed to have turned him into a hateful sadist, lost in his grief and with a lack of understanding.
"I planned on ending you the same way you ended Antoine, but that is too good for you. When the sun sets, you'll wish I'd show mercy. You'll beg for my forgiveness."
"Then stop talking," Athos provoked. "And finally keep your empty promises."
He was grabbed by the collar, Duveau's arm drawn back with the blade in his hand, ready to slash Athos' face, when they were interrupted by one of the mercenaries.
"Do you guys smell that?" he asked casually, as if he didn't witness the brutality of their life and death duel for the past hour.
Athos, once he was able to, took in a deep breath. The bitter, stinging scent of smoke entered his lungs, and he grimaced.
"Fire," Duveau murmured and let go of Athos. "Stay here, de la Fère, I will deal with you very soon!"
Athos coughed and spit out a mouthful of blood.
"Idiot," he spat as he watched Duveau and his two men run off toward a larger tent that apparently had caught fire. Without wasting any more time, he started trying to wriggle his hands free, but those ropes were insanely tight and all he did was cut deeper into his already bruised skin.
He stopped for a second when he heard the splashing of water behind him, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. It seemed as if he started imagining things now.
But he quickly regained his focus and eagerly fought to get the ropes off, cursing internally about his two comrades whose help he could really use now.
Whether it was a higher power or sheer luck he didn't know, but he received an answer to his requests very soon.
"Easy, mon ami," he suddenly heard a soothing voice in his ear and he recognized it as Aramis'. Athos instantly relaxed.
"You missed me?" Aramis continued and Athos didn't have to look at him to know his friend was smiling triumphantly.
Athos threw his head sideways to look at his friend, who was completely soaked in water, and who was using his dagger to cut him loose now.
Athos growled affirmative.
"Come on, before they come back!" Aramis hissed and pulled Athos on his feet, his keen eyes inspecting the area. "Can you walk?"
Athos scowled as a response and he shook Aramis' hand off before he started to take two unsteady steps, the pain spreading from his shin through his whole leg and the beating he received to his face was making him nauseous.
"I don't have time for your stubbornness, Athos," Aramis cursed and pulled Athos arm over his own, wet shoulder, helping his friend to walk.
They heard loud shouting from where the fire had broken out, Duveau was apparently arguing very loudly with his two mercenaries.
"What … happened to the two men who were ordered to kill you?" Athos rasped, his eyes still glued to the fire.
"No worries, they're alright," Aramis replied, but then he frowned. "Well, shot, but alive. We came as fast as we could." He hesitated, but continued with a steady voice.
"You'll have some explanations to do."
Athos growled gruffly.
"After we get out of here of course," Aramis added, and basically had to drag Athos towards the woods.
They almost ran into Porthos, who was breathing hard due to the sprint he had just absolved.
"God, the people these days are way too easy to distract," he said, talking more to himself than to anyone else. "Athos, good to see you're still in one peace." He made a pause, apparently rearranging his thoughts as he now caught sight of the musketeer's bloody face. "Well, for the most part, at least."
"Can we leave now?" Aramis threw in dryly.
"No, not yet, we have to…," Athos mumbled, and he was trying to escape Aramis' grip and walk back to the fire.
"Athos!" Porthos shouted warningly and he saw Aramis shaking his head in exasperation.
"We'll get him, Athos," he said roughly, holding his friend back by the shoulder. "But not yet."
"We have to get some distance, and once we're settled, we can…," but Porthos cut off what he was about to say, his eyes drawn to the fire he himself had caused in the camp.
Athos followed his gaze and saw what unsettled his friends, as Aramis was taking his pistols back from Porthos and raised his firearm.
One lonely figure was limping away from the fire and towards Athos and the others, the long, bloodied rapier dragging through the dirt at his feet.
It wasn't Duveau.
It was the man who had led the ambush, and who had taken over the first half of the beating Athos had received. He limped towards them, his head hanging low, his face ashen and betted in sweat from the heat of the fire.
"Stay where you are!" Aramis snarled, aiming with his pistol. It looked a little ridiculous, really, because Aramis looked as if he'd just fallen into a well and he was holding Athos upright with the other arm, but his facial expression was deadly serious.
Athos felt Porthos on his other side shifting nervously as well, the broad musketeer nervously twitching with his hand towards his rapier.
But the man actually did as he was told and froze on the spot, his eyes slowly drifting towards them. Sprinkles of blood painted his face, and he looked absolutely shocked.
"Where is Duveau?" Athos wanted to know, trying to look as fierce as possible clutching onto Aramis' shoulder.
"He…he shot Théo. I…I couldn't…" His gaze wandered back towards the bloody sword in his hands and he dropped it immediately. Athos guessed that Théo was the other man who had served under Duveau.
"You killed 'im?" Porthos dug deeper, not relaxing a tiny bit.
The man slowly nodded. "Théo and I questioned his…ambitions," he stuttered, and as far as Athos could tell, there was not much left of the arrogant, cruel man he had met earlier. "He shot him and wanted to get rid of me too, I…I had no choice."
A strange feeling overcame Athos. A mixture of sorrow and hate, of satisfaction and pity. He had known Duveau for a long time. He had lost himself so much in his search for vengeance that he had become a murderer himself. It wasn't fair, but his burning jaw and his aching ribs reminded him of how misled this man had been.
As if Athos had done his duty as a Comte gladly. As if he had gladly sentenced his wife to death. Or Antoine. But they had both turned into cold-blooded murderers. Athos felt no remorse. It took a toll on him, but he knew what he had done had been his duty and necessary, otherwise he would lose himself in his thoughts.
The man now stumbled forward, despite Aramis' warnings, but he was unarmed now. He fell to his knees in front of Athos, bowing his head as if he was just waiting for the sword to execute him.
"Comte de la Fère, I have been mistaken about the incidents that led me here. I trusted a traitor, and he killed my friend out of his clouded judgment and madness. I accept every punishment you claim to be fitting."
Athos roughly nudged Aramis' by the shoulder and his friend finally lowered the weapon.
"I'm no longer the Comte de la Fère," he then explained, his voice cold as ice. "My name is Athos. I am a musketeer."
He made a short pause, rethinking what he was about to say.
"Go your way. Make sure not to cross my path again in the near future. Not because you gave me the beating of the year," and with the thought of that, he rubbed his bruised chin. "But because you ordered to kill my brothers. That's something I'm not going to forgive so easily."
The man looked up in surprise, still on his knees.
"Go!" Athos barked, his usual authority shadowing his worn out appearance.
The man got up on his feet, bowed his head and limped off towards the camp.
Athos' muscles finally relaxed and he took in a deep breath to calm himself, staggering backwards in the process.
"Easy, my friend," Porthos murmured and took it on himself to steady Athos, while Aramis went to fetch the horses.
An uncomfortable silence settled between Athos and Porthos. Athos gratefully accepted Porthos' water can and tried to clean some of the blood off his bruised face.
"Who was he?" Porthos asked carefully, not sure how to address the subject.
"Doesn't matter," Athos retorted shortly. "Now he's nothing but a ghost from the past."
Porthos caught his gaze, and he seemed a little concerned.
"The man's gone mad," he stated simply, squeezing Athos' arm reassuringly. "Whatever happened, you're not to blame."
Athos said nothing, but gave Porthos a brief, thankful nod. Moments later, they already heard Aramis approaching with the horses.
Athos took his horses' reins and doubtfully looked up to the saddle, before he felt Porthos next to him, offering him a helping hand.
"We should head back to Paris, get you checked up," Aramis explained, gently stroking his horses' neck.
"I'm fine," Athos growled, putting one uninjured foot into the stirrup.
He could almost hear Porthos rolling his eyes.
"Yes, and I'm the First minister of France. Come on." Without further explanations, he grabbed Athos by the waist and hauled him up into the saddle.
Athos grumbled something incomprehensible.
Aramis shook his hair like a dog, the water drops spraying in all directions.
"You look like a drenched dog," Athos commented dryly.
"'t was his own plan," Porthos explained with a yawn.
"But it worked," Aramis growled in frustration and turned towards his own horse, putting on his doublet and reattaching the pistols to his belt. "Though it probably would've worked just as good without the swimming part. Doesn't matter now." He shrugged.
Athos grimaced in pain as he dug his heels into his horses flanks, but then he turned towards his friend once more.
""Oh and Aramis?"
"Yes?"
"Next time, maybe a little less drinking and a little more attention, don't you think?"
Aramis snorted.
"We saved your ass, Athos. Don't make me regret that."
Athos huffed a dry laugh.
"And by the way," Aramis added and exchanged an amused look with Porthos as he mounted his horse again. "That wine of yours was truly delicious."
Le 'bouclier rouillé', Paris, 1656
"Athos was a Comte?" Verde's mouth was wide open in surprise.
Brujon nodded.
"He tried to hide it when he became part of the regiment, but a man of nobility is easy to recognize. At least, that's what Aramis told me. I was still a child when Athos renounced his title and joined the musketeers."
"Did he ever go back to his estate?" Rissé asked, absolutely drawn into the story.
"What, to Pinon?" Brujon was a little surprised. "Before the war, yes, one time, and that wasn't voluntarily. But he appointed a mayor, and the village was left in good hands."
"Most people dream of the privileges the aristocracy owns. And he just abandons it," another soldier sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.
Gaulier scowled.
"I think the story my friend here just told shows very well that with the privileges, duties come along as well. And those duties can change a man's life. You of all people should know this."
The soldier just raised an eyebrow and his glass.
"Did they ever asked, at that time?" Rissé asked, turned towards Brujon.
"What do you mean?"
"Porthos and Aramis. Before this Duveau turned up. Did they ever ask about Athos and why he became a musketeer?"
Brujon sighed. "They didn't have to. It didn't matter for them, and you don't get to know a person by questioning them about their pasts. When the time is right, you'll find out eventually." He eyed Verde, who was still looking at Brujon, totally in awe with the story he had just been told.
"How do you know all this?" he asked.
Brujon just winked. "I have my sources. And I served under Athos for some time as well." He poured some more wine into his cup. "I have my commission for over twenty years now. The stories I have to tell somehow just pile up."
He grinned at the excited child.
"And whatever your father can't tell you, I probably can. And will."
He smirked when he noticed Gaulier's offended look.
"If your father says it's okay you hear them, of course."
No d'Artagnan in this one, I apologize, but I promise our favorite Gascon will be part of future chapters.
Thank you to everyone who read and left me their thoughts on this idea. Also thanks to Guest, I will most certainly make sure to write a chapter or two that explores the post-series dynamics (though probably like three or four years later, not twenty as that would be the same time the framestory takes place.) Thank you for the review and the suggestion, it is truly appreciated.
Further on, if there is anything you'd like me to include in future chapters, situations with tension between certain characters, h/c with a little adventure or simply a little character study or moment, let me know. Whatever it is, I'll definitively consider it.
I hope this one illustrated a little better where I want to go here with 'little stories'. Though this one turned out to be insanely long. Sorry. Let me know what you think.
