I beg your forgiveness! I am so sorry for the late update but life...well it's been getting away from me. I'm working hard at school but not getting the grades I so desperately want and I was ill all last week and I've had such terrible, debilitating writer's block but I'm catching up and I'll try to stay regular. Thank you all for being so patient and I promise that this chapter will be a lot less sad than last time. Enjoy and have a fantastic weekend and please leave me a review x Also, for those of you who left me prompts, they are post-sticked on my wall and planned out so I will get round to them...eventually and thank you so much for all the awesome prompts because they are so much fun and let me add a lot of depth to carry on throughout chapters.
Translation Please?
"Well this is fun."
Athos raised an eyebrow at Aramis, feeling the carriage jolt as it rolled over yet another bump along the dirt road and forced back a wince as the ropes cut further into his wrists. Porthos lifted his head to look at his best friend from his place beside Athos, eyes dark and vicious, matching the purple bruising that marred his face.
"That's 'cause you haven't been punched in the face…repeatedly."
"Or gagged." Athos commented, nodding toward d'Artagnan who was sat beside Aramis, looking furious at the cloth in his mouth as he made his own muffled protest.
Aramis glanced at the young man beside him "It was your own fault though. I didn't even know you had such a dirty mouth."
If looks could kill, then Aramis would have been just a pile of ash across the wooden flooring. Porthos sniggered loudly and Athos shot Aramis a slightly warning look as the carriage rocked again.
"I wish they'd gagged you instead." Porthos muttered audibly and Aramis gave him a mock-hurt look and moved his arm to touch his heart before remembering it was secured behind his back making the motion look rather gracefully awkward as it tugged at his wrists.
"I'm hurt, Porthos." Aramis looked wide-eyed and innocent and d'Artagnan scoffed behind his gag "However, I forgive you since I'm in a good mood."
D'Artagnan said something, incomprehensible due to the cloth in his mouth and Porthos gave him an sympathetic look "Sorry lad, can't understand you."
"He said 'How can you be in a good mood?'" Athos supplied helpfully, face a blank mask as the others-including d'Artagnan- looked at him, surprised.
"You understood him?"
Athos raised an eyebrow as though Aramis had asked the most blatantly obvious question in the world so they shrugged and continued.
"I'm happy because we actually have relatively comfortable transportation this time." Aramis explained with his cheery smile and looked to d'Artagnan "Last time I was captured I was thrown over the pommel of a saddle on my stomach and ended up black and blue for weeks. I was surprised I didn't suffer internal bleeding; my kidnappers were appalling horsemen."
"Stop being so dramatic, 'Mis."
Athos rested calmly, eyes closed and breathing deep; the picture of ease "I think our captors are rather stupid."
"What do you mean, 'thos?" Porthos asked in confusion as d'Artagnan's eyes lit up and he made an excited series of noises-strung into what resembled a sentence- that were muted by the gag.
"Well done, d'Artagnan." Athos' eyes flickered open and he nodded in pleased acknowledgment before meeting the others' gaze and sighing exasperatedly "We're being taken down a more public road away from Paris in a stolen carriage belonging to a rather wealthy merchant."
Porthos blanched "We're the perfect target for bandits."
"How do you get that from d'Artagnan's squeaking?" Aramis demanded and d'Artagnan elbowed him viciously in the ribcage and made an indignant series of sounds.
"He does not squeak." was Athos' nonchalant translation, his emotionless tone contrasting to d'Artagnan's angry noises.
"Enough!" Porthos sighed exasperatedly, looking like he wanted to put his head in his hands "I have a headache and this doesn't help; we can discuss how Athos can speak fluent 'whelp-squeak' later. What are we gonna do about bandits?"
Again, if d'Artagnan had been blessed at birth with the power to incinerate people with his eyes there would be two mounds of charred Musketeer on the floor. The Gascon mumbled another unfathomable few words but Athos coughed quickly when the others turned to him for a translation.
"It seems he dislikes the term 'whelp' but I'm sure d'Artagnan would be overjoyed to share his rather…strong…opinions of you on his own at a later date."
Porthos couldn't fight back the smile "Embarrassed that your protégé can swear better than most sailors? Aren't you such a rich boy; insulted by a little bad language."
"You didn't understand what he said." Athos raised an eyebrow at the larger man who nodded as he relented.
"You are so just making this up. How could you possibly understand all that from some 'whelp-squeaking'?" Aramis stated challengingly, ignoring the dangerous growl that left d'Artagnan's throat.
"This is neither the time nor the place to argue about such things." The firm order was only subtly disguised due to Athos' respectable upbringing "Porthos is right, we should make a plan; hopefully to escape before we are discovered by any bandits in the area."
"Bandits would be a perfect distraction though; we could slip out in the chaos." Porthos supplied, looking between the three to gauge their reactions.
Aramis pulled a rather worried face "A little risky though, don't you think? Who's to say we won't get recaptured again, or worse they might decide that they aren't too fond of Musketeers."
"Fighting our way out seems unlikely in our current condition." Athos countered easily, a slight furrow on his brow the only indication of his deep thought "If a distraction were to come along our main obstacle would be to escape our ties."
At this d'Artagnan made another series of sounds and Athos cocked his head to one side as he followed the suppressed words that managed to escape the cloth.
"Aramis, d'Artagnan has a knife concealed up his right sleeve. Can you reach it?"
Porthos laughed loudly at the revelation, eyes wide with surprise and pride "Well done, lad. How'd you pull that one off?"
"A story for another time." Athos interrupted and shot the Spaniard opposite him a look, signalling for him to act "Aramis."
"I know, I know. Turn a bit, d'Art."
The two men shuffled steadily round so they were back to back and Aramis began trying to extricate the small blade from d'Artagnan's sleeves and tied wrists. After a few seconds, the Gascon made a sharp protest and glared at Aramis over his shoulder.
"Right wrist, Aramis."
Aramis glanced over at Athos with a frustrated huff "Alright, alright. It's more difficult than it looks. Everything's reversed and my nimble hands aren't exactly in the most comfortable-or controllable-position either."
A few more seconds and a broad grin spread across the Marksman's face "I think I've got it! I've just got to carefully…"
D'Artagnan made another stark, muted outcry after which they both abruptly froze.
"What happened?" Porthos questioned worriedly, glancing between the two as they began to move and Aramis winced.
"Sorry, d'Artagnan." Aramis apologised with a brief twist of his head before turning to the two opposite "It slipped, I swear."
D'Artagnan looked murderous but seemed to regain at least some composure and he breathed in deep, calming breaths through his nose before muttering something behind the gag.
"The knife is poking into his back, Aramis, behind his hands. Whatever you do, d'Artagnan, do not lean back."
The angry retort was rapid and once again it became fortunate for Athos that fate had not gifted d'Artagnan with the ability to burn people to death with his eyes.
Porthos laughed "Let me guess that went something like 'Funnily enough, Athos, I wasn't going to'?"
"Perhaps some kinder words may need to be substituted."
Once again they were interrupted by another expletive from d'Artagnan that sounded vaguely like a certain Medic's name and Aramis had the grace to blush as Athos supplied "Don't laugh. Your hands are shaking."
"I promise I won't stab you, d'Art." Aramis said helpfully, hands moving more slowly behind him as he carefully extracted the knife from its position between them "I mean, then I'd get blood on me and have to patch you up and neither of us would have a great day."
"You call this a 'great day'?"
Porthos snorted and looked mischievously over at Athos "It will be when we get free and d'Art rips Aramis' head off. I'm kinda looking forward to it."
"Can we focus please, gentlemen?" Athos muttered tiredly, eyes flicking between them.
They were interrupted by a triumphant laugh escaping Aramis' lips and the medic twisted slightly against d'Artagnan as they boy seemed to visibly sag in relief and the glint of a silver hilt became just visible.
"See, d'Artagnan," Aramis smiled warmly over his shoulder as he began sawing at his ties "I didn't cut you. Hands of a trained surgeon."
D'Artagnan grunted and Athos translated in a similar, disapproving tone "Shut up, Aramis."
A scowl crossed Aramis' face for half a second before there was a reassuring snap and the frayed rope fell from the medic's wrists and he let out a sweet "Taadaa!", rubbing his tender wrists carefully. D'Artagnan squeaked to focus Aramis' attention once more but the Spaniard just winked and took the knife over to Athos, slicing quickly through his bounds before moving onto Porthos. Taking pity on his protégé, Athos took a careful step across to d'Artagnan, trying to keep steady against the rocking of the carriage and pulled the gag from his mouth.
"I swear, Aramis, when we get out of this, not even God will be able to save you from me."
Aramis laughed as he finished freeing Porthos "You sound so cute when you're angry. I can't even take your threats seriously."
"Grave. Digging." Porthos warned with a tilt of his head, standing shakily and leaning against the wall as Aramis probed at his face whilst trying to ward the younger man off "You might want to stop antagonising the whelp now, 'MIs."
"Don't call me 'whelp'!"
"I preferred him with the gag on."
Aramis grinned cheekily over at d'Artagnan as the boy growled dangerously and Athos placed a calming hand on his shoulder, not entirely certain whether the Gascon was going to leap forward and throttle his fellow Musketeer.
"Shall we leave before d'Artagnan decides to kill one of us?"
Porthos sniggered "Pfft. Highly ambitious of the kid, Musketeers don't die easy."
"I'm willing to test that theory." d'Artagnan snarled with a dark, murderous look in his eye and Porthos went quiet and took a slight step back.
"Leaving sounds like a good idea."
"Scaredy Cat." Aramis teased knocking shoulders with the larger man before moving over to the door and carefully crouching down by the carriage door to investigate "It's not locked."
Athos could literally feel d'Artagnan gritting his teeth as he replied "Perhaps we should go then, you know, before any of the bandits show up."
"We have no weapons."
"We have a knife."
Porthos shrugged "We've done more with less."
"We don't need to fight our way out necessarily." Athos reasoned calmly, senses hyper aware of the sounds of men's voices outside, the rattle of stones beneath the wheel and the heavy breathing of his companions "Aramis, can you take a look outside and determine our captors positions."
"Yes, Aramis, do something useful."
Athos gave d'Artagnan a warning squeeze but when Aramis turned he just looked amused.
"Who cut us all free?"
"With who's knife?"
"Children." the eldest Musketeer reprimanded slightly patronisingly "You both were equally useful. Now can we escape before our captors realise quite how useful you are."
Aramis smiled and opened the door a crack, and used his keen sniper eyes to spy whilst Porthos whispered "D'Artagnan should be quiet. They might be suspicious if they hear four voices."
"Why can't you be quiet?"
"I wasn't the one who was gagged, plus I highly doubt my voice sounds anything like yours."
Aramis leaned back into the carriage with a small click of the door "You sound too high and girly for Porthos."
"Maybe you should be quiet then."
"Enough. Both of you just be quiet." Athos resisted the urge to sigh exasperatedly and wished, not for the first time that day, that he had a bottle in his hand "Aramis, what did you see?"
"I thought I was being quiet?" Seeing Athos' dark glare, Aramis swallowed nervously and the mischievous fire in his eyes died "I could see four men out front, two behind."
"But there were twenty before." d'Artagnan replied sardonically and Aramis glared at him.
"Well there aren't now."
Athos sighed and concentrated on the task "They must have split up, possibly to avoid detection. A big group would be more noticeable on the road."
"Which means there might be Musketeers on our tail." Porthos suggested with a triumphant grin.
"Quite possibly." Athos agreed with a twist of his lips "It would explain their behaviour. Any suggestions for how we escape this carriage and reunite with our comrades?"
"We should get d'Artagnan to use his big, brown puppy eyes." Aramis winked in the Gascon's direction and the boy scowled.
Porthos groaned "Can you two kiss and make up already?"
"No." they replied in unison as d'Artagnan continued "He started it."
Athos was about ready to call their captors and demand they gag them both so he could have some peace and quiet "Enough. We'll have to sneak out and head for the trees, find some cover and then follow the road back to Paris."
"Hopefully we'll run into some friendly faces before then." Porthos smiled hopefully and Athos gave a nod and small twitch of the lips in reply.
"Fine." d'Artagnan groaned indignantly, realising their unsaid suggestion and giving in as he held a hand out to Aramis "Truce?"
The Spaniard raised an eyebrow at the outstretched appendage and hesitated. With a disapproving frown, Porthos elbowed him viciously in the ribs and Aramis let out a high pitch yelp which Athos quickly shushed before taking d'Artagnan's hand.
"As a fair gentlemen, I accept you surrender."
"Truce." his three companions corrected him sternly and Aramis sighed dramatically with a shake of his head.
"Truce."
With that battle over, the four Musketeers focussed on the task ahead of them. The ensuing escape inevitably deviated spectacularly from their original plan and ended in a battle for the ages and a long, long lecture from Treville. But at the end of the day, the four sat around the small table in Athos' rooms; new bumps and bruises bandaged, food heavy in their stomachs, warmth in their veins, wine in hand and light banter bouncing back and forth between them. When Treville went to check on his Musketeers, he found Athos slumped in his chair, head on his chest, Porthos was slouched on his chair, snoring loudly and limbs splayed whilst Aramis sat quietly between his legs and d'Artagnan looking contented even in sleep as he rested his head in the Spaniard's lap.
