If you are still reading this far,
Then Congrats.
So,
Warning:
To those who do not like harm to children, the next chapters will involve some child harm.
Sorry for the wait too. I have had shit to handle. School is an arse. And hectic. And sport.
Plus writers block when I have actually had time to write this. So this chapter isn't too good.
But I will still try to update as much as possible.
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The Three Musketeers knelt behind a dirt mound. They were looking out towards the Mill, river flowing next to it. The mill itself was worn down from the years spent unattended; walls crumbled, the roof caved in areas and wheel snapped off its stand.
"It's not as guarded as much I expected," murmured Porthos, shifting in his knelt position to lean closer to the other men. Expecting to see at least a group of guards on patrol, Porthos was surprised to find only one man resting on an opening to the Mill surrounded by rubble. "There should be more men not just one lookout." Porthos couldn't shift the feeling that something was wrong.
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"Fresh bread or a ripe apple?"
"Apples. You?"
"Bread," Lucille sighed. She was tucked under D'Artagnan's less injured arm. Less than two hours previous Robert had come to retrieve D'Artagnan again. This time, however, Robert chose to be more hands-on with his approach. The session ended with several fingernails removed, a damaged right arm, bent in ways that arms should not be able to bend, and a dislocated shoulder. Way to ensure he would be unable to lift a sword let alone use one. He would be out for months in recovery.
When D'Artagnan had been unceremoniously thrown back into the cell, he found a sobbing Lucille. Through gasps, she had explained that a couple of men had visited her to appease their own boredom. They left several bruises marring her pale skin. Rage filled D'Artagnans body. Who would beat a child for their own amusement? To help calm the girl he decided to play an old game he used to play with his father when they travelled. It seemed to be working so far.
"Bread will always win," she smiled. "Especially how Mother makes it. You have to try it one day!" Her face fell. "I miss her." She mumbled into her D'Artagnan's chest. He squeezed her closer to him, offering his support. "It's alright. We will get out of here. You will see her soon." She didn't respond, face forlorn. D'Artagnan slowly let a breath out, rubbing Lucille's arm. "I miss mine too."
At that, Lucille looked up. He gave her a soft smile.
"Maybe you will see yours after we leave."
.
After sitting in comfortable silence with Lucille for a length of time enabled D'Artagnan to investigate a nagging feeling clawing at his gut. Something was off about the second man who tortured him. They should not know my name. There was no way. There were only two conclusions D'Artagnan could draw from that. Either these men are watching the village meaning Athos, Porthos and Aramis were in turn, being watched too, or they had managed to find one of his friends too. If the second was the case, then they would not have given up that information. And Robert would not have been able to keep that quiet, D'Artagnan thought darkly. That meant that his brothers had to be careful, as they most likely had their every move observed.
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"So we take out the guard, sneak in, find D'Artagnan and Lucille, then get out." Aramis deadpanned, "That's too simple, even for us."
"When is anything we do ever simple?" Athos quipped. "Every simple mission always turns sideways somehow."
"Don't you just love how that has become truer of late since D'Artagnan joined our ranks?" Porthos added, eyes on the guard ahead of them, who remained at the opening in the wall.
"Exactly why we need to get him out. Who knows what is happening to him, and the longer we wait out here, the longer his pain is prolonged," Athos growled.
"Somethings not right," Porthos interjected. "That guard… he has not looked up ever since we got here and there has been no sign of anyone else. He might just be a bad watchman…" Porthos trailed.
"Or he is merely waiting," Aramis finished.
"We have known from the beginning that Fournier is using this village for his own means," Athos dragged out slowly. "It would be likely that he would have the means to spy on the people."
"If he had men reporting back to him then they might know we are coming already. They could be waiting for us to strike at any moment," Porthos sighed.
"Very good gentlemen. Or maybe they have already caught you before you managed to achieve anything." A sly voice rang out, causing the heads to swivel towards the source of it. They were staring down the barrel of a loaded musket each. Somehow, 15 or so man had managed to sneak behind them, catching them unaware. With swords and muskets pointing at them, they were trapped. Grinning at the three angry faces in front of him, he forced the Musketeers up and into the Mill. "Up. There is someone who wishes to speak to you."
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Roughly, the Musketeers were thrown into a room resembling an entrance chamber. Aramis immediately noticed the three exits teasingly blocked by guards. A man stood pompously, leaning on against a wall.
"Three more musketeers for my collection. This will be fun indeed. The other one has become a bit of a bore of late, I must admit."
Aramis knelt on the floor, hands shackled together. Athos and Porthos were either side of him. Looking up at the man, Aramis asked: "So, which one are you Monsieur?"
The man cocked his head to one side, striding confidently towards the three musketeers.
"Whatever do you mean?" he smiled.
Before Aramis could respond, Athos growled menacing up to the man:
"You know what we mean. Are you Ardoin or Fournier."
"Well, you Musketeers certainly have done some work haven't you," came the gravelly voice, patronizingly. "I suppose it is only fair. Gentlemen let me introduce myself. Jean de Fournier, weapons dealer extraordinaire, at your service. Of course, I already know who you three are. The legendary Athos, Porthos and Aramis." At each name Fournier stepped menacingly towards the three, in the hope to frighten them. Like that was going to work. "Little D'Artagnan has told me all about you three." I bet he has, Aramis thought, wishing he weren't chained up. Eyeing the three, Fournier gestured towards the guards at the furthest exit. Immediately the left. "He is one of a kind, I shall give you that. His screams," he shivered with pleasure, "they will be with me until I die. Although he is slightly hard of hearing."
Aramis' stomach dropped. The way Fournier phrased that meant nothing good. He has done something to D'Artagnan. Aramis found the others came to the same conclusion he had. Athos was pulling twice as hard at the chains binding him to his brothers, Porthos choosing to send an almighty death glare at Fournier. If looks could kill, he thought.
Noises caught the Musketeers attention. The guards had returned, dragging someone trailing behind them. The body was thrown in the centre of the room, in front of where the three where kneeling. D'Artagnan looked up at them. He spat blood on the floor at Fournier's feet.
"D'Artagnan," whispered Athos. At that, D'Artagnan's head whipped around to face them, exposing the blood down his face. His face barely recognisable, every inch bruised or swollen, or covered in dirt and sweat. Remembering Fournier's comment, Aramis searched his friend.
"Your ear…" Aramis felt sick. How dare Fournier breathe in the same room as them. D'Artagnan's face split into what looked like a smile, the swelling making it hard to read. He was happy to see them.
"Wait 'til you see the arm," he wheezed, collapsing back to the floor.
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So… yay?
They are back together.
Again, I am sorry for the wait. I do not know when I will next be able to update, but I promise I will.
~Psiphon.