Beginnings

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: On the way to La Harve to collect a self-proclaimed criminal and trader of stolen goods; the past comes back to haunt Athos, endanger his brothers and threatens to derail the musketeer's mission before it even gets started.

Chapter Four: Journey

Everything seemed so clear from up here – sharp and in focus. The sky was never so blue, the clouds a stark pristine white – the sun bright; but not blindingly so. Jasmine permeated the air. Everything was perfect.

He felt the breeze hit his face and smiled at the force of it, as his hair whipped about and tickled his cheeks. Excitement bubbled up from his toes; traveled uninhibited to his throat; and he let it out – yelling happily to the top of his voice.

The echo of his joy spread out beyond Lupiac – all the way to Paris – he was sure of it; unsettling the birds along the way as they soared out away from the great oak and raced to overtake the vibrations of his outburst.

When had he ever felt such freedom? He could step away from these swaying limbs right now, and fly over this great expanse with ease; leap from his constraints and take on the world.

Suddenly beneath his feet the limb shifted with his weight and snapped. Joy transformed to terror as he plummeted swiftly down toward the earth. His attempts at catching hold of the sturdy tree to stop his descent was for naught. His father's stern warnings reverberated around him, and all he could answer back was "I'm sorry Pere."

When he hit the ground, explosions rocked the earth; and the heat of flames rose up to block his path to safety. Through the shadows a dark haired woman scrutinized him; Vadim flipped his coin – laughed at his inexperience and the golden currency vanished into thin air. The illusion of such a trick caused him to frown in consternation. Was he looking in the wrong direction?

His head swiveled back and forth between the two apparitions.

When he opened his eyes with a start, Porthos was sitting across from him – poking the camp fire with a stick. Kindling imploded and the flames rose up from the pit, casting an orange glow that pushed the darkness and her hidden minions out toward the tree line. Porthos gazed knowingly at him, and leaned over to speak to him in hushed tones. "You were dreaming."

d'Artagnan nodded, frowned in confusion at his scattered dream; rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. He shivered slightly as the cool breeze rustled by – but knew mostly that he shivered because of the disturbing dream, and not the weather.

He sighed and thought his mind played tricks on him. His memory of that first mission at best was sketchy and when he dreamed of Vadim, the unease usually lasted for hours afterwards. Now, the lady of his brief encounter joined the mix; and a foreboding sense of dread wrapped itself around him.

For the life of him, he could not remember the details of that fateful week. His body for months, in its wake, bore the marks of what took place; but no matter how hard he pressed to remember – it wouldn't come to him.

Only snippets showed themselves in his sleep or at odd waking moments – where a spoken word; a sound, smell or a scene before him would conjure up a vague remembrance and jog a recollection loose.

Over time, the fragments he did happen to piece together, served only to leave him fearful of enclosed, small spaces and oddly enough fearful of losing the three men who unselfishly nursed him back to health. He sighed deeply and scooted back from the pit – pulling his cloak tight about his shoulders.

He knew Vadim to be dead.

Apparently, he had some part in it he could not remember. But in his dreams, the man's laugh was close to his ear and the mocking sound of his voice always left him feeling insecure – unworthy somehow. The musketeers assured him of his heroism; and bravery – but for all their kind words and praise – he could not shake the feeling of failure.

He pulled his hair at the roots and groaned in frustration. He was missing something important.

"One day – it will all come back to you." Porthos whispered out to him.

d'Artagnan shook his head and peered out into the darkness, looking for … solace?

"And if it doesn't?" he asked sincerely.

Porthos thought for the briefest of moments on the earnest question and answered bluntly. "Then it won't."

d'Artagnan looked about the camp and saw the horses tethered close by. The dark, cloudy sky obscured the few stars he could make out along with the half hidden moon. Aramis slept soundly beneath a gnarly tree – his hat covering his face. Light snoring drifted over the night noises of creatures calling out to one another.

He searched past the sleeping form of his friend; further out through the flames; beyond the pit and out toward the trees. Porthos answered his unspoken question with warmth, "He is out walking the perimeter."

d'Artagnan could only nod wearily; and wondered about the man who showed such care for his wellbeing – but had little to say on the subject. Whose actions of sleepless nights at his bedside; cool cloths at his fevered brow; and gentle care of his basic needs, much to his embarrassment, spoke volumes.

Some months had passed since the whole Vadim incident. A chilly spring that had brought uncharacteristic snow – now segued into a hot sticky summer. Recovery for his body was complete – accept for a twinge every now and then at his shoulder, which reminded him of the dislocation there.

It was his mind that could not rest- that kept trying to find that missing piece between being discovered as a plant among Vadim's men and finding himself in the infirmary.

Vadim's death; the arrest of his followers; the recovery of the royal jewels – all seemed a dream come true at the time. Treville's respect, his fellow recruit's awe at his achievement; under the tutelage of the Inseparables, was everything he could have hoped for.

Only he couldn't remember all of it – and the missing gaps were driving him to distraction. He looked over again across at Porthos and smiled thinly, grateful to be recovered, out from under the watchful eyes of Dr. Gerard and Aramis. He was happy for their good care of him, but now gladder to be released – given the opportunity once again to be about musketeer business and prove his worth.

This time, he would do it right.

They would track their man to one of the ports he would most likely enter – arrest him for breaking France's trade treaty; and bring him back to Paris to face his crimes before the King and the Minister of France.

Porthos studied the myriad of emotions that crossed the gambit on d'Artagnan's face. Though he recognized determination, what he saw most was uncertainty. An uncertainty embedded in the unknown. Something traumatic definitely took place while with Vadim; and at times like this he wished d'Artagnan could let it lie; but knew such hope was futile.

So instead he imparted uncomplicated advice. "Get some rest d'Artagnan. Tomorrow we journey to the Port of Rouen. If Bonnaire is not there – we travel on to La Harve."

d'Artagnan lay down, and turned his back to the fire. Porthos was right. He should rest; clear his mind so that he would be ready for what comes next. Aramis lifted his hat; peered from beneath the brim, and shrugged his shoulders in Porthos' direction. They shared a brief worry for their pup between them, and vowed to keep an eye on him.

The trip to Rouen was done in companionable ease and silence. Not many people traveled along this route so early in the day. So d'Artagnan was surprised when Athos with abject certainty announced that they were being followed.

He twisted in his saddle to peer behind him; at his sides and even up ahead – but to his eye saw nothing out of the ordinary – only trees, the road, dirt and the occasional passerby.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, "because I don't see…"

"One man I think." Aramis interjected – effectively cutting off d'Artagnan's query.

Porthos reached over and playfully ruffled d'Artagnan's hair. "Something to do with Bonnaire maybe?"

Scowling, d'Artagnan pressed his flying hair down and smoothed out the stray strands that stood up to attention. He swatted Porthos' hand away and groaned at the indignity of it all.

"Maybe." Athos countered.

d'Artagnan moved his mount in close to the three and whispered with some urgency. "Should we not turn and confront this person? Find out what he wants?"

Athos studied d'Artagnan and nodded. There was some merit to his strategy but he wished not to make a move just yet. Sometimes patience was the better option. This time around he would not put d'Artagnan in harm's way if he could help it. "We ride on to Rouen. See if we can find our man. If not – we turn; face our stalker and see what he has to say."

When they crossed over into the city limits of Rouen, dismounted, and found shelter for their horses, d'Artagnan was overwhelmed with the sheer amount of noise, bodies and trade jammed together all around him.

Over the cacophony of sound he could hear water lapping against the docks and wondered how the people here could think amid such activity. He could feel his heart beating wildly in sync with the frenzied state of movement around him.

Porthos laughed, clapped his back and urged him along the crowded streets to follow behind the others. "How will we ever find anyone here among all this?" he yelled over the stomping of horses' hooves; and carriage wheels scraping across cobblestone.

"We go to the ships", he pointed out toward the docks where sailors fought canvas being lowered to wooden decks. "Speak to the harbor master – find the nearest tavern; see if someone knows something."

d'Artagnan nodded with amazement at the foreign sights and sounds around him, and let Porthos lead him on.

d'Artagnan pet his horse fondly. It had been a long day of searching, asking questions and staking out ships drifting into the harbor. But it had all been to no avail, Bonnaire was not here in Rouen. He was a well-known scoundrel among the people here – so it seemed La Harve was the next obvious place to look next. He marveled at the musketeer's patience for such mundane tasks as asking question after question; and hoped one day he could match their persistence.

For he must admit that talking to people he did not know; and not getting the answers he wished to hear had become wearisome.

However after a day with no leads to follow Athos was anxious and ready to go – so he had sent him to pay the owner of the livery for his services; and saddle the horses. They would meet him here after paying the tab and be on their way. He was eager to get moving as well, and told his horse so, as he threw the saddle across his back.

His mount pulling away from him, eyes blown wide with fright and a slight displacement of air was the only warning d'Artagnan had before he turned to see of all people, Monroe of the Red Guard standing before him – the handle of his firearm raised above his head, and then crashing down to catch him across the temple.

Pain exploded at the side of his head, jaw and cheek. His vision went white; and he crashed to the ground – Vadim and the lady laughing at him behind bales of hay.

When d'Artagnan came back to himself – his head throbbed and blood rushed loudly in his ears. The horses pranced in their stalls, neighed with agitation and pushed against their barriers. A red haze covered his left eye and his sight pitched with a wavy sickening sway.

He reached to touch the side of his face but found that his wrists were tied and bound to pillars at the center of the stable barn. Panic churned in the pit of his stomach, as he twisted his wrists to try and get himself free.

Suddenly a memory of that day rushed toward him like a tidal wave. It was happening again but this time the gun powder would explode. He would not be able to get away. He would die here and never see his friends again in this life.

Before him Monroe paced back and forth in a frantic state. The light from the lantern caught his eyes which revealed a sort of manic madness. d'Artagnan struggled against his bonds and yelled out, "Let me go Monroe. What is it do you think you are doing?" The last time he recalled seeing the man, was during their duel and his mad dash to escape the Red Guard.

Then it hit him – their stalker in the woods and his missing hours with Vadim. Here was the man who had been with them underground in the tunnels – who had beaten him unmercifully with the hilt of his sword, had spit in his face; kicked at him; slandered Athos' name and laughed how he had been the one to betray his identity to Vadim.

d'Artagnan took in a shuddered breath, and remembered it all. Remembered the pain, torture and humiliation he had endured at the hands of this man and Vadim.

"It was you who supplied the gunpowder; you who received the shipments of powder - all from Bonnaire."

Monroe stopped pacing, turned to him; knelt down and grabbed him by the collar. "You will serve your purpose boy." he hissed with malice. "I thought to track down Bonnaire and kill his sorry ass before he spilled the beans on me. But who do I find on my way to La Harve? You with that high and mighty Athos - that drunkard; liar and turn coat who sought to ruin my life."

d'Artagnan squirmed; pulled at his bonds and stared down the mad man in his sights. "I fought you once and will do so again – you coward! Release me and fight me fair!"

Monroe stood and slapped d'Artagnan across the mouth with the back of his hand, the force of it splitting his lip. He stared down at the indignant boy and watched as he licked his lip; hardened his eyes; and with renewed energy pull at his restraints. Monroe matched his glare and let his own dark eyes, go void of all feeling. He pulled out his musket and pointed it behind him.

"Athos will walk through that door. I will shoot you right before his eyes and then kill him and the rest of his merry band. The inseparables will be no more, and my way will be clear."

The Lark this night was full of life. Noise in the tavern was a hodgepodge of deafening gaiety; song and lightheartedness. The hearth emitted a sweltering amount of heat that had ale flowing freely among the patrons. Athos reached for his purse to pay off their tab – when suddenly the room faded into the background; the laughter receded and a cold trickle of sweat rolled down his back.

His brothers were here in the room with him – safe. So this intuition he was sensing must be about d'Artagnan – that pull at his rib which told him he needed to hurry.

He threw coin down on the table and moved to rush from the establishment. Aramis and Porthos stood also – met each other's gaze and followed without hesitation. Something was wrong. Athos' sixth sense had kicked in and they would wait for instruction. His uncanny ability to feel out trouble had gotten them through many a skirmish; battle and personal mess – so they had learned to trust his instincts.

Out in the street – the cool night air was a shock to their systems but proved effective in sobering them up. Athos stalked down the rocky street toward the livery with purpose and when close signaled for Aramis to make his way to the loft and for Porthos to enter the building from the back. They nodded to each other and took off at a steady pace for their positions.

When he entered the livery stable, the first thing he saw was d'Artagnan sitting on the ground – his wrists bound to the central pillar; blood covering the side of his face – his lips pressed tight with frustration. Athos pulled his sword and scanned the area.

d'Artagnan looked to him, then over his shoulder, and screamed out, "It's a trap!"

And there to the side stood Monroe – his firearm pointed at d'Artagnan's chest; a leer of disgust and satisfaction on his face. A retort resounded – d'Artagnan closed his eyes and flinched at the sound. Athos raced toward the boy, intent on taking the bullet. A searing pain creased his arm as he covered d'Artagnan's body with his own then fell at his side.

A second sharp crack filled the space, and Monroe dropped to the ground screaming; holding onto his thigh – blood flowing freely through his fingers; his face transformed now in a contortion of agony. Porthos burst through the back – his musket drawn - as horses pushed against their stalls, ready to bolt if given the chance.

Indifferent residents screamed in the streets for the magistrate to come restore order; but stayed far enough away – in fear for their own lives. Gunfire was not uncommon this time of night – so people kept moving, scurrying to keep from being caught in the crosshairs.

d'Artagnan opened his eyes to see with relief, Athos struggle to his knees, turn toward him; grab him about the neck and search his face. He swiped the blood from his temple with the sleeve of his coat; and leaned over to touch his forehead with that of this boy who could not stay out of trouble.

d'Artagnan let out a shaky breath and nodded, "I'm okay. What about you?" In that moment he could feel Porthos cutting the ropes at his wrists and watched Aramis leap gracefully down from the ladder that led up to the loft – smoke curling from the barrel of his musket.

Without answering, Athos left his side, grasped his sword tightly in a white knuckled grip and moved to tower over Monroe. When he lifted his weapon to strike at the heart – Aramis moved swiftly and grabbed at his arm. "Wait Athos – wait. What is Monroe doing here? What is this about?"

"Do it, you snobbish; arrogant; son of a bitch", Monroe yelled out through clenched teeth, pain evident on his face as he clutched at his thigh attempting to stem the flow of blood. "When you killed her you turned your back and doomed us all."

Porthos, with d'Artagnan leaning heavily into his embrace moved to stand with them. "He knows of Bonnaire – he meant to ambush him in La Harve", d'Artagnan rasped out, then promptly loss the ability to stay on his feet; his knees trembling as adrenaline seeped from his body.

Porthos lowered him gently to the ground and the three musketeers' commenced with silent conversation.

d'Artagnan spoke aloud to interrupt their thoughts. "He's the one who betrayed me to Vadim – I remember now. But this here is a revenge on you Athos." d'Artagnan took a breath to shore himself up and made to stand. "He said things about you I cannot abide. I seek…."

Athos held up his hand to stay d'Artagnan's concussion induced tirade. The boy's unyielding loyalty was an ever present wonder to him, even in the face of truths spouted from the mouth of Monroe. His wish to fight for his honor, even now – swelled his heart with affection.

But d'Artagnan did not know him; did not know the depths of his missteps and mistakes. The day would come when such veils would be lifted. But the truth of him would not be revealed today – at least, not at this moment.

He turned to his brother. "Take him out of here Aramis, and see to his injury. Porthos and I will see to this."

"And your injury?", Aramis pointed out. Athos shook his head in the negative, and gestured toward the door.

Aramis nodded warily and lifted d'Artagnan up from beneath the shoulders and together they stumbled out into the night; passed by startled neighbors and made their way to The Lark.

Porthos pointed to Athos' shoulder where a red stain saturated his coat. "And you brother?"

Athos touched his arm lightly; surprised by the injury he was only now beginning to feel. "I'm fine", he answered, and turned to stare down at his nemesis, who had found his way from Pinon – to Paris – and was now a traitorous Red Guard. "Let's get what we need from this one, and find the man we seek."

Monroe met Athos' stare with his own menacing glare. "Do what you will with me Athos", he ground out, "but know what hell you left behind when you turned your back on us."

Athos responded with a heat in his voice Porthos rarely heard. "I have no quarrel with what you say of me Monroe. All of it is true. I have done much; and more to deserve yours and the wrath of many, but what I have not done is betray my King or France."

He bent to lean over the downed Red Guard, raising his weapon once again to strike. "Tell us now of where we can find Bonnaire and I will spare your life."

Monroe scooted back and away; sweat on his brow plastering hair to the sides of his face – his eyes glistening with pain. "And if I don't?"

Athos leaned in close, and hissed in his ear, "Then I will strike you down where you lay for threatening the life of d'Artagnan."

Porthos raised an eyebrow – but did not speak throughout the exchange. Each of them had heavy crosses to bear and this he assumed was part of the weight Athos' bore. He was in no position to judge any man; so stood at his brother's shoulder and listened as Monroe gave up the ship Bonnarie would depart from at the port of La Harve.

The trip to La Harve was a silent affair. Asked what had become of Monroe, Porthos would only say that he now stewed in the jails of Rouen to await his sentencing for attempted murder; and conspiracy against France.

d'Artagnan looked to Athos and had so much he wanted to say and ask. He wanted to say thank you for saving his life….again; to ask who was Monroe to him, and why did the man hate him so much. That what he said of him were lies, no matter how much he wished for him to believe them true.

Instead Athos had asked of him, "Will you share your returned memories with us?"

d'Artagnan thought on it. Monroe beating him while others held him down until he was rendered unconscious; being tied to gunpowder and seeing his life flash before his eyes, were moments he wished to forget and never revisit. "No", he answered. He would keep that terror to himself. Some things were meant to be kept close to the vest. His screw ups and fears were just such things – his alone to bear.

Now he understood Athos' reluctance to share - and would not intrude on what he obviously wanted to keep to himself. This was something he was learning from Aramis and Porthos – that a man's demons were his own – so he would not push just to have his curiosity assuaged.

"Fair enough", Athos replied, then pulled ahead to lead their small entourage.

d'Artagnan touched the side of his face and winced. His head hurt, his face hurt, his pride was bruised; but his heart was light. He was glad to ride alongside these men, and as they crossed over the border into La Harve – he hoped finding Bonnaire and bringing him back to Paris would be easier than the journey it took to get here.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. Also – thank you to those of you who have already reviewed, favorited, and who are following this story. This means so much!