A/N: Okay guys, sorry for the delay and semi-short chapter! I have been working a ton and there's that nasty flu going around and I'm pretty sure my body is fighting it (I cannot sleep enough, I swear). I hope to have more regular updates as I continue but I can't promise anything with my job being what it is! I will try though, I promise!
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THREE
The night passed quickly, D'Artagnan finding it difficult to sleep with the letter now in their possession and judging by the constant moving from the other bed in his room he didn't think Athos slept much either. Before he knew it they were all up and getting ready for the return trip to Paris. Food was packed and the horses were all saddled and they were on the road as the sun began to rise. The morning was the coldest so far and the wind managed to seep through even his thick cloak as they barreled toward Paris.
For hours they alternated between a full gallop, a slow trot and a fast walk. They didn't want to wear the horses down completely when they had so far to go still but the need to be back home was great in all of them. Being on the road meant being in constant danger and while they were more than capable of handling themselves, they couldn't deny the nerves they felt whenever they traveled with items of such importance.
Their conversations were very limited as well, even when they traveled slower to let the horses rest. There was a tense air all around them and D'Artagnan couldn't shake the feeling something was going to go wrong. It always did. While their first day passed without incident and their first night ended without a problem the second morning of their return trip dawned bleak and wet. Rain fell in sheets around them, worse than the day they left Paris, and the air took on a bitter edge, slicing through this cloak and reaching to his bones. It was miserable.
D'Artagnan didn't seem to be alone in his opinion either. Their pace was slower due to the weather and he could sense the discomfort radiating off his friends as they traveled. None of them were overly fond of how the weather turned on them so suddenly, it was a bad omen and could only bring trouble.
Unfortunately, their misgivings were proven true just after they decided to start looking for somewhere to wait out the worst of the rain. The deluge of water drowned out most noise but nothing could cover the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Aramis jerked in his saddle, his hand immediately going to his right shoulder before he toppled to the ground.
"Ambush!" Athos' shout was nearly drowned out but it was hardly needed. Porthos and D'Artagnan were already swinging around to face their attackers the moment Aramis started to fall while Athos hurried to his friend's side.
Seven riders were closing in on them. Quickly. There was no way they could take them all on, not with Aramis already down. But D'Artagnan didn't think there was any way to outrun them either. They were already so close. He cast a desperate glance to Porthos, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion, "Go! Give me your spare pistol, I'll hold them off long enough for you to get away and meet when I can."
Porthos shook his head angrily, "I'm not leavin' you 'here!"
"Aramis needs help and Athos won't be able to handle it on his own, you know that. I'm the best rider, I can hold them off long enough for you to find somewhere to lay low before I lose them. I will find you," D'Artagnan was already holding his hand out for Porthos' pistol, knowing there was no other option and knowing his friend would realize this.
It took less than a minute but it felt like forever before Porthos finally cursed and pulled out his spare pistol, handing over to the Gascon, "You better find us, pup, or I'll kill ya myself."
D'Artagnan gave his friend a tight smile as he took the pistol, whirling toward the incoming riders. He held up the weapons and aimed, managing to take his target down as Porthos moved to help Athos. He drew one of his own pistols and fired that one as well, felling another rider. By this point, Porthos was already hauling Aramis into his saddle, preparing to take off with his precious cargo. Athos hesitated a moment, looking back at the youngest of their group, before cursing and grabbing Aramis' abandoned reins and pulling the rider less beast after him as he followed Porthos on his own horse.
D'Artagnan managed to shoot one more rider down with his final pistol before wheeling around and taking off after his friends. With the rain they were already out of sight and he took advantage of that, steering their attackers in the opposite direction of where his friends went. He knew it was possible they wouldn't all follow him but since they had no idea where the rest of his group went he was hoping they would take the chance he was stupid enough to go straight back to them.
Thankfully, this seemed to be the case and before long he was leading them on a wild chase through the woods in the opposite direction he saw his friends go. He wound through the trees and over a hill or two before he could no longer see them behind him. He did not head back toward the road immediately though, worried they would still be looking for him and possibly follow him back. He was grateful for his caution when he two of the riders through the trees to his left as he wound through the woods once more. They did not seem to notice him though and he moved slowly so as not to draw their attention.
Unfortunately, he was so focused on the two he could see he didn't notice three coming up from behind him. It was the sharp prick of a sword at his back that alerted him to the presence of more enemies. He stilled immediately, automatically starting to formulate some sort of plan to escape these men.
"Where are the rest of yer friends, boy?" one of the riders was slowly moving in front of him as he spoke, his voice carrying the promise of pain and his eyes dark as he took in the Gascon.
The rain was finally letting up and D'Artagnan could make out more riders approaching through the trees. He cursed inwardly, there was more than just seven of them. D'Artagnan wasn't sure where the others came from but he was glad he sent Porthos and Athos away to treat Aramis. There was no way they could have handled this many enemies at once while protecting their friend. No matter how good they were.
"Long gone by now," he told the man in front of him, meeting his eyes without flinching.
The sword was pressed into his back a little bit harder but he didn't react in any way, refusing to give this man the satisfaction, "I doubt that. They wouldn' jus' leave you behind."
D'Artagnan smirked, "You don't know that."
"I know Musketeers don' leave each other behin'. 'Specially one young as you," the man eyed D'Artagnan critically now, "Ya can' be old 'nough to be a real Musketeer. Unless they're lettin' children in now."
D'Artagnan glared now, "I'm not a child and I think you'll find I'm very much a real Musketeer."
The man chuckled darkly, "Either way, yer comin' with us," his eyes darted to someone behind D'Artagnan and he had no time to react before someone slammed into the base of his skull sending him reeling into oblivion.
MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS MSKTRS
Porthos didn't like this plan. Leaving D'Artagnan behind sat wrong with him but he also knew they needed to Aramis somewhere to treat him. He was groaning in front of Porthos as they barreled down the road in the pouring rain, trying to find somewhere safe to stop and treat their friend. He hoped D'Artagnan would find them before they hid themselves away but the longer they rode they less likely that seemed and the more listless Aramis became. He could tell Athos was thinking the same thing, his gaze constantly drifting behind them with a concerned frown and a tormented look in his eyes. Neither one of them liked this plan. At all.
As the rain was beginning to finally lighten up, Athos veered off the road. Porthos could just make out the roof of what looked to be a barn of some sort beyond the trees and he thanked whatever Gods were listening. They would have somewhere dry and relatively warm to check over Aramis' injuries and treat whatever they found. He hoped it was nothing serious but with how listless the Spaniard seemed Porthos doubted this was going to be an easy fix.
They were able to tie the horses off in a stall out of the rain and thankfully there was enough hay to feed the horses and lay Aramis on. Athos pulled the medical supplies out of Aramis' saddle bags while Porthos situated him as comfortable as possible on a pile of hay. It was dry and warm inside and Aramis seemed to be coming around a little more the longer they were out of the elements.
"Mis? Mis, can you 'ear me?" Porthos tapped his friend's cheek a few times, trying to elicit some sort of response from the Spaniard.
Blear brown eyes blinked open, filled with pain, "P'thos?"
"Yeah, Mis, it's me. 'Ow ya feeling?"
A low groan met his question as Aramis tried to reposition, "Like I was shot."
Porthos chuckled, "At least your sense of humor is still intact."
Athos joined them with supplies before Aramis could respond and he looked pleased to see Aramis coherent again, "It seems we are going to be the ones to patch you up this time, my friend."
"Don't let Porthos do the stitches," Aramis grumbled lowly, wincing as Athos began to remove his doublet with assistance from Porthos.
"Always worryin' about your scars," the large man teased, carefully removing the sleeve of his friend's shirt.
Once Aramis was stripped from the waist up and the full extent of his injury was revealed Porthos was glad to see there was an exit wound just above Aramis' collarbone. At least they wouldn't have to go digging around for the ball.
He was dragged through corridor after corridor, all of them dimly lit and seemingly unused. They passed multiple doors as well, but didn't slow at all. Finally, he was led into a large chamber with a long table set on the far end. A man sat at the table, sipping wine from a goblet and looking far too pleased with himself.
D'Artagnan was dragged across the room and thrown to his knees in front of the table. He did his nest to sit up as straight as possible, his head held high as he stared directly into the man's eyes unabashedly, "I suppose I have you to thank for my lodgings, then?"
The man took another drink of his wine, before turning his attention to the Musketeer in front of him with a slow smile, "Ah, you're a lively one. The young ones always are."
D'Artagnan remained silent, watching the man intently. He still wasn't sure what was in store for him and while everything in him screamed to mouth off at this condescending moron he also knew what Athos would tell him: head over heart. Every time. So he kept his mouth shut and waited.
"Perhaps you are also smarter than you look. I can see the war you are having with yourself. Should you snap back at me, punishment be damned? Or should you bide your time, keep quiet and see what exactly I have planned?" the man paused now, wiping at his mouth with a cloth napkin and rising, "There's only one thing I want from you Musketeer. And I think you guess what it is."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, "And I think you know I'm not going to tell you anything. So let's just skip you trying to convince me it would be in my best interest to help you. I won't betray my brothers or my King."
"You put your brothers before your King, interesting in a Musketeer."
"What are you talking about?"
"You said you wouldn't betray your brothers or your King. If you would choose you King over your brothers you would have said you wouldn't betray your King or your brothers," the man's smile grew now, "You have already told me more than you planned. Where are your brothers, little Musketeer? You would choose them over your liege and yet I do not see them here to help you."
"They have their duties as do I. The King must always come first," D'Artagnan was not going to let this man get in his head and make him question himself or his brothers. There was too much history between him and his brothers. Too much trust for such tricks to have an effect on him.
"We shall see if you continue to say such inane things by the time I have finished," the man was in front of the table now, facing D'Artagnan, "Now, while you asked to skip this part I'm afraid I cannot. Tell me where the letter is and I will let you go. You can return to your brothers and when we kill them I promise you shall be spared."
D'Artagnan snorted, "You obviously do not understand the bonds of brotherhood, Monsieur…?"
"Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? I know who you are and I have yet to introduce myself," the man threw his arms wide as he dipped into a mocking bow, "Monsieur Claude d'Espesse, at your service."
Claude stood back to his full height and suddenly there was anger burning in his eyes as he stepped closer to D'Artagnan, dropping to eye level and grabbing the Gascon's chin in a tight grip, "You will tell me what I want to know, boy, and then I will ensure you never see your precious brothers again."
D'Artagnan smirked, "Good luck with that, Monsieur d'Espesse. I think you will find this boy is harder to break than you think."
Claude chuckled darkly before releasing D'Artagnan's chin with a rough downward motion, "We shall see."
