A/N: Thank you for the lovely response to the first chapter of this story. I hope you continue to enjoy!


"Mostly dead is still somewhat alive," Aramis repeated, shaking his head as a smile graced his lips. "Really?"

Porthos grinned as he replied, "Worked, didn't it?"

Aramis chuckled softly. "Indeed, it did my friend, indeed it did." He glanced in Athos' direction, the older man riding to his left, but there was no trace of mirth in their friend's expression. Now that they had a location, Athos was determined to reach their destination in the shortest possible time.

The location they'd been given was approximately a two-hour ride away, but from the way their leader was pushing his steed, Aramis was certain they would arrive sooner. There would eventually be a need to slow down and approach with stealth, but for now, the older man kept a quick pace, slowing for only as long as required for their horses to regain their breath.

"What's the plan?" Porthos asked, having clearly detected Athos' intense focus on their goal.

No one spoke for several long moments, Aramis and Porthos both waiting for Athos to respond, but the older man was lost in his thoughts. The mantle of leadership was one he wore relatively easily, having been groomed for responsibility almost since the day of his birth. Most of the time he minded little when others deferred to him, but when he was at a loss, the resulting burden weighed heavily. This was one of those times. 'What's the plan,' he repeated Porthos' words to himself, not having any idea of how to answer. 'If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this…' The thought trailed off with the realization that only defeat laid in that direction. Inhaling deeply, he said, "We get him back. No matter what."

The marksman was tempted to roll his eyes at the complete lack of strategy in Athos' reply, but decided on a more tactful response. "Have you given any thought as to how we might accomplish that goal?"

The older man was tempted to continue taking his foul mood out on his friends, but he changed his mind when he realized that they were just as worried as he was about d'Artagnan. Forcing himself to offer a more reasonable response, he admitted, "I don't really know yet. Much depends on what we find when we arrive."

In truth, his companions had suspected as much and were glad to hear Athos state what they'd already been thinking. "Works for me," Porthos said agreeably.

"And me," Aramis concurred. "I've always said that a soldier who isn't adaptable to their circumstances, is no soldier at all."

Quirking an eyebrow at the marksman, Porthos countered, "You've never said that."

"Hmm," Aramis innocently questioned. "I haven't? Well, I've said it now so that should still count." Porthos guffawed at his friend's words and even Athos' lips quirked slightly, the marksman having achieved his goal of lightening the mood, even if only for a short while. The silence that descended on them was far more comfortable than before as each man withdrew to contemplate how they would accomplish their mutual objective.


"This is a fine mess you've gotten us into."

d'Artagnan struggled to raise his head up from the ground, roused to semi-awareness by the clipped words. After a first failed attempt, he managed to push himself shakily up onto one elbow, his head still hanging loosely from his neck as though lacking the strength to raise it.

"Call yourself a King's Musketeer, hmm?"

The tone as well as the words mocked him, and a flare of anger gave d'Artagnan the energy needed to lift his chin from his chest. "Wha'?" he slurred.

His answer was a disgusted sniff, and he blinked owlishly to clear his vision and identify the man-shaped blob across from him.

"Finally decided to wake up from your nap?" The words dripped with condescension, and d'Artagnan gritted his teeth as he forced blurry eyes to focus.

"Richelieu?" he muttered, giving his head a shake of disbelief, before groaning at the pain of the movement.

"That's Cardinal or Eminence to you, boy," the other man sneered haughtily.

Swallowing back the nausea that had surged with his return to consciousness, the Gascon bravely tried to keep his eyes open as he replied. "Did they capture you, too?"

Deciding to overlook the Musketeer's earlier slight, Richelieu said, "Isn't it obvious? How else would I come to be in this place?"

d'Artagnan nearly nodded in agreement before remembering what a bad idea that would be. "Have they harmed you in any way?" His squinted to sharpen his vision for a moment, scanning the other man's appearance.

Raising one hand to examine his fingernails, Richelieu responded, "They daren't raise a hand against a man of God."

"Good," d'Artagnan breathed out, slumping slightly with relief. "That's good."

"How do you intend to secure our freedom?" the Cardinal pressed, obviously impatient to escape their prison.

The Gascon felt a wave of desolation flow over him, having been asking himself that same question since he'd been taken. How long had it been, he wondered, before pushing the thought from his mind. How long he'd been held captive mattered little; he needed to find a way to get himself and the Cardinal back to Paris. "Working on it," he replied, even as he was beginning to lose the battle with his body to remain upright.

"Work faster!" Richelieu commanded, his words causing d'Artagnan to startle and his eyes to pop open once more.

"Bossy." He groaned at the flash of discomfort in his side, realizing a moment later the disrespectful nature of his words and hoping the other man hadn't heard him. When several seconds passed without comment, he felt confident that he'd spoken too softly for Richelieu to discern what he'd said.

"Well?" the Cardinal prompted, causing d'Artagnan to sigh and wince at the tight band that seemed to encircle his chest. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he pushed himself backwards with his heels, certain that there was a wall somewhere behind him. He let out a soft grunt when his shoulder found the wall, resting against it as he waited for the world to stop spinning around him.

"I'm waiting," Richelieu announced, and the Gascon clamped his lips closed against the rude comment that threatened to spring forth. Instead, he maneuvered himself so that he could place a hand on the wall, before laboriously dragging himself to his feet.

As the change in gravity assailed his aching head, he found himself staggering sideways, thankfully back against the wall. He leaned against it for several long moments as he pushed the encroaching blackness away from his vision and breathed carefully through his nose to calm his rebelling stomach. He noted that the slow movement of his chest calmed the discomfort that had flared there with his change in position.

Once he was relatively certain that he wasn't in immediate risk of either passing out or losing the meagre contents of his stomach, he lifted his eyes and searched again for Richelieu. When he had the man in his sights, he asked, "Can you tell me anything about where we're being held? The number of men, their locations, anything that will help us escape?"

The Cardinal narrowed his eyes at the questions, initially tempted to offer another scathing remark about the other man's skills, but reconsidering a moment later given their current reliance upon one another. "Four, maybe five men," he said offhandedly. "I was brought here under cover of darkness, so I can't really say much about our location. I assume there must be another building nearby that houses our captors."

d'Artagnan gave a slow nod, pleased to find that the pain in his head didn't immediately spike in response. "Makes sense," he replied. "We'd arrested all but about a half-dozen of them."

"Not surprising that this has been caused by Musketeer incompetence," the Cardinal replied.

Biting his tongue against the retort that sprang to mind, d'Artagnan asked, "Have you any type of weapon?"

"Someone of my standing has no need to arm himself," Richelieu stated arrogantly. Seconds passed in silence before the man continued. "Besides, they were exceptionally proficient in their search and confiscated everything they perceived as threatening to their wellbeing."

The Gascon worried his bottom lip at the news. He was very familiar with their captors' proficiency in finding all manner of weapon, and remembered well the men's thorough search of his clothes and saddlebags.

Squinting in an effort to focus his vision once more, d'Artagnan's eyes followed the line of the walls around him until they landed on the door. It hadn't changed any from the last time he'd considered it and still stood firmly in the doorway, blocking all outside light and sound. He vaguely remembered having tried to open it, without success, and figured he might as well waste his time that way as any other since Richelieu didn't seem to have any better ideas.

Groaning, he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd slumped and began the laborious trek towards the door. The distance was only seven or eight feet, but to his weakened body, it felt much farther. He kept one hand on the wall as he walked, opting to take the route around the perimeter of the room rather than directly across it, distrustful of his wavering balance and inconsistent vision.

He sighed in relief when he reached his objective, one hand coming up to brace his sore flank as the other continued to aid his balance. Without conscious thought, he slumped forwards against the wooden door, his eyes closing of their own accord as he battled fatigue and mistreatment.

"Wouldn't your plan have a higher chance of success if you attempted to open the door rather than napping against it?" The Cardinal's words were clipped and dripped with condescension, but d'Artagnan couldn't argue with their sentiment.

With effort, he forced himself to straighten, retaining his balance by keeping one hand on the door. The other hand moved to the door's handle, and he found himself holding his breath as he pressed down, already preparing himself for the disappoint of finding it locked. The handle moved downwards and clicked, the door swinging easily outwards.

d'Artagnan's shock almost had him falling forward as his support swung away from him. At the last moment, before his balance would have been lost, he managed to shake himself from the surprise of his discovery and pull the door back towards himself.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Richelieu asked, the man having moved closer almost immediately. "We need to go now before someone comes back and we find ourselves trapped again."

The Gascon's befuddled brain was churning, unable to reconcile the unlocked door with his situation. The door had been locked – he was certain of it. His captors had enjoyed stopping by to torment him, and they'd locked the door firmly behind themselves each time they'd left. He was certain of it…wasn't he?

"Good God, man, what are you waiting for?" the Cardinal hissed, impatience rolling from him in waves.

d'Artagnan could feel his muscles trembling as his finite energy slowly dissipated. If he was going to try to escape, it would have to be soon. 'But, why?' his mind argued. 'Why would the door be unlocked now?' Unaware that he was responding to himself, he muttered aloud, "Trap."

"You think it's a trap?" Richelieu questioned, still waiting for the Musketeer to move. "So, what if it is? Do you honestly have anything to lose at this point?"

The throbbing in d'Artagnan's skull escalated, bringing with it another wave of dizziness. As much as the Cardinal annoyed him, the truth of the man's words could not be refuted. This might be his one and only chance to be free of his captors, and for Richelieu's sake, it was a chance he needed to take.

"Fine," the Gascon said, throwing a glance over his shoulder somewhere in the direction of his charge. "Follow me and stay close." He received a non-committal grunt in reply, which he chose to take as agreement.

Pushing the door open once more, he followed it out, moving slowly until he could peer to one side. The view he was met with wavered and refused to focus, but from what he could discern, he was reasonably certain that no danger awaited him on that side. Pressing the door out farther, he repeated his slow observation on the other side of the wooden barrier, relatively comfortable that there was no one around to see them escape.

"Come on," he said lowly, trusting that the Cardinal would follow. He clung to the side of the building they'd just exited, keeping one wall at his back as they moved. When they ran out of wall, he paused, scanning the area again before identifying a copse of trees, and deciding they would be his new objective.

d'Artagnan's steps were heavy and uncoordinated, and he was bent nearly in half by the time he crashed into one of the trees he'd only barely identified. His arms came up automatically to grip the trunk as he swayed and held on to remain on his feet.

"We're too close," Richelieu protested, his face reflecting his panicked state. "We must head farther into the trees where they won't be able to see us."

The Gascon gave a weak nod, his forehead scraping against the bark of the tree where it rested. With a force of will, he lifted his head and released his hold on the tree, staggering to one side to go around it. Each step seemed harder than the last, but he forced his feet to continue moving, Richelieu's voice echoing in his head as the man insisted they keep going.

d'Artagnan had no idea where they were going but agreed that any distance between themselves and their captors was to be cherished, so he pushed his failing body to press on. Soon, he'd lost himself in the repetitive motion, unaware of his stumbling gait that more often than not had him bouncing off trees as he continued forward. His mind had detached itself from his body, no longer able to function while dealing with his physical ills.

So it was that his foot found open air between one step and the next, his brain unable to register the lack of ground beneath it before his weight shifted forward to fall into nothingness. For a split-second, he was weightless before gravity reasserted its hold on him and dragged him to the ground. The impact snapped his teeth together and rattled his fragile skull. It was too much for a body that had already endured so much, and he fell into darkness before his body had even settled where it had fallen.

To be continued on Sunday...


A/N: The following line is from the movie, "The Princess Bride": "If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this..."

Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined.