Author's note: So first I'm sorry this one took so long, my internet connection started acting up and then I'm not sure if it was my laptop or this site but there was something wrong and well here we are. And THANK YOU to all those who reviewed the previous chapter. This one doesn't have much action but I hope its worth the wait.
The fight ended as soon as it began, Treville had a feeling that it had something to do with the negotiations that Pierre had mentioned earlier. The bandits began fleeing as soon as the small group charged from the forest and much to Treville's disgust the Red Guards gave only a half hearted chase, turning back from the men they were pursuing far too soon.
Loathed to shoot down men from their backs Treville looked only to wound the fleeing enemy.
"Let it go Captain, we'll go look for the Queen," Pierre spoke from his side.
"Is that the part of the deal you made with them?"
"Cardinal's orders," Pierre shrugged and wiped the sweat from his brow, "We're not to use excessive force. Apparently The Falcon's been doing enough of that."
Before Treville could even think of a reply for that, a man with a shock of vivid red hair emerged from the brightly lit archway of the castle ruins and beckoned him to follow. The Captain of the Musketeers didn't miss the flash of silver on the hand that motioned for him and looked around for his men.
Athos and Porthos were already dismounted; they circled back to him at his signal. Pale light of the not quite dawn cast deep shadows on the worried faces of his men.
"We'll go search the castle," Athos offered as soon as they were within earshot.
"I'll see what I can find out," Treville nodded as he turned to make his way towards the man waiting for him in the doorway. He paused when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to regard Porhos.
"Be careful Captain," he said and wriggled his fingers to show what he was talking about.
"I can handle it," he assured the big man.
The inside of the castle was bright and too hot, the open fire lamps not helping with the heat that stifled the long windowless corridor Treville found himself in. The man he was following never did not bother to turn around nor did he speak a word, the confidence that he would be heeded without question or retaliation set Treville's teeth on edge. He wanted to slam his pistol's butt into the back of the arrogant head just to spite him. He just might have done so in his youth had experience and duty not tempered the anger he felt rising.
He raised an eyebrow when the man before him stopped in front of a door and tilted his head, signaling for the Captain of the Musketeers to proceed without him.
Treville entered the room with a hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Monsieur Treville! I never imagined we will be meeting so soon."
"Captain Treville,"
"Ah yes, that's how your loyal men see you," he nodded, "Athos and Porthos, don't posses much in terms of psychic abilities, in fact they almost felt like fledglings."
"Stay out of their heads," Treville growled.
"Oh we don't get into people's heads, you know that Captain," he raised his hands in a placating gesture, "It's their kind who does that."
"What do you want with the Queen?" Treville cut to the point.
The false geniality was rotting his teeth where he stood yet his brusque words only seemed to expound it when the man before him smiled benignly. He took a seat by the scarred table and offered the Captain a chair, which he ignored.
"Do you have children Captain?"
Treville tapped into his experience at the palace to keep his face blank. It could be a trick question; the Cardinal had implied that this man was thorough in his research. So he stared blandly at the narrow face, framed by white hair.
"I think you know the answer to that Marcus," he said.
"You were married though, some twenty years ago to a beauty of rural Spain. Felipa I'm told." Marcus's dark eyes roamed over his face as though looking for a reaction. When none was forthcoming he nodded to himself, "I'm told she died recently at the hands of her son. Rene d'Herbly, he seemed to have fled after the act."
"I'm only hearing what you believe are facts," Treville could play the fool with the best of them if he wanted to, "I left her years ago, so why are you telling me this?"
"I think I mentioned a son,"
"Never heard of him before," Treville shrugged.
"My sources tell me otherwise, they say you were there when your wife died and her son fled."
"I haven't seen her in years and the last time we talked she never told me about a child." The last part of the confession was at least true.
"I've been told she was a Psychic."
"I'm not aware of that."
"But you are a Watchman."
"Then I guess I would have known since I was the one who married her." Treville said.
Marcus looked surprised for a moment but then a slow smile etched on his old face. He nodded at the Captain as though to imply that he had caught on but Treville kept his face blank, not giving anything away.
"Now why did you orchestrate an attack on Her Highness?" he asked.
"I have a son Captain," Marcus said, "A grandson as well, really bright for a thirteen year old. The boy thinks the world of me; it's the best feeling in the world. But my son, he thinks I'm a monster."
"Are you?"
"I like to think that I do what I'm supposed to do," Marcus shrugged, "And that is to keep the world safe."
"What does this have to do with the Queen?"
"She's a Psychic Captain," Macus sighed, "Not tethered yet to any knot and certainly not polished or powerful. Still in the unawares fledgling state I suppose, but we can't risk it. Think about it Captain, a Psychic so close to the King of France, it's a dangerous thing without her being Spanish on top of it all."
Treville found himself wondering about the 'compelling' that Felipa had told him about. If Her Highness came to understand her abilities she may as well be the one ruling France and if her loyalties lay with Spain it would be a poisonous combination indeed.
"But you have the King protected with the Cardinal." He reasoned.
"The tragedy of my knowledge is that I can see that no matter what we do Watchmen are weaker then Psychics." Marcus folded his hands in his lap but a hard edge set in his jaw line, "We can guard our own minds Captain but we cannot guard another's no matter how much we wish it."
"And you think this is the best way to handle this situation?" Treville shook his head, "You're pushing your country into war."
"We are already at war Captain," the dark eyes glinted, "We wage it every day in the shadows of what people believe to be real."
Treville's hand tightened around the pommel of his sword and a challenge sparked in his blue gaze.
"I cannot allow you to endanger the Queen of France whatever your reasons may be." He said, "My men are searching this place as we speak, Her Highness will soon be safe at the Palace."
"You can't ensure that Captain, that is, if your men are able to find her at all. She is stowed away in a place that even the residents here would not know of." Marcus smiled, "If only there were more of us close to the King, you know to keep an eye on Her Highness, but I got a note from Richelieu that you do not wish to join our Brotherhood."
Treville wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off the man's face, preferably with Marcus's own blood. But giving into his impulses was not what had brought him up to this position. He knew when to fold and he knew which battles to fight. Even if he could somehow get the Queen back to safety there was no guarantee that the Brotherhood would not come after her; next time with more swift and devastating results.
"I accept your offer and you leave her alone?" he asked.
"We'll even let your men be if you would take the responsibility." Marcus dipped his head in a nod.
"Fine then, I'll be a part of your Brotherhood." He said.
"Good, good," Marcus smiled, "Let's see, I think I did keep it with me."
He rummaged in the pockets of his long loose tunic until he pulled out a small knobby object and a scroll. Unfurling it, he spread the blank parchment onto the table and gestured for Treville to come forward with his right hand, the silver tipped finger gleaming in the firelight.
"You need to sign it Captain,"
"It's blank,"
"It will come, don't worry," Marcus assured him
He grasped Treville's hand and the Captain felt a sharp sting in his palm. He glanced down where the silver on the man's finger had cut into his flesh but before he could question it, Marcus had pressed the bloodied silver tip on the top corner of the paper.
The crimson spread onto the parchment shaping into an insignia and smoothly flowed down to form words, curling and stretching into neat writing down to the Captain's own name and the final dot. Marcus rolled it up almost immediately and handed the knobby stump of wood to Treville. It was a stamp bearing the seal exactly like the insignia that had formed onto the scroll.
"You will seal your letters with this every time we correspond," Marcus told him, "And now Jean Armand Treville, I Marcus d'Artagnan welcome you to the Brotherhood of the Watchmen."
"The Queen,"
"You are loyal my friend I'll give you that," Marcus smiled, "Go now, Sebastian would show you the way."
Not wanting to spend a second more in the man's presence he shot out of the room feeling like he had just agreed to something that was out of his comprehension. This time he was almost thankful when the red haired man - Sebastian - turned to walk away without a word.
Treville was lead to a room on the far end of the corridor and once in there the man leading him went over to the corner filled with what once may have been half the roof of the chamber. Nimbly stepping over the debris, Sebastian disappeared behind a tall slab effectively leaning against the wall. He really would have missed it if he had not been shown the way Trevile decided as he followed the man into the hollow behind the fallen piece of roof.
There was a staircase in there and at the end of it, a thick door both locked and bolted. Muffled sound of fists thumping against the wood reached the two as Sebastian produced a key. The second the door swung open Treville found himself at the receiving end of a rather strong right hook.
"What have you done to him? Where is he?" someone shook the Captain before he could regain his balance. He was nearly glad when Sebastian pulled the wild creature off him only to become the next target.
Treville distantly realized loud Spanish ringing in the small hollow of the platform where they stood. He recognized some words as 'self-righteous,' ' pompous' 'murderers' and some that he recognized would have made him blush it he wasn't too focused on bodily lifting up what appeared to be a young girl, off of the rather frightened looking Sebastian.
"Thank you Captain," the man swiped back the red hair falling in his eyes.
The girl in his arms swung her head back quick enough to hit his jaw, hard. The wide blue eyes were red rimmed and the long dark eyelashes wet with recent tears.
"Captain Treville?" she asked, "Athos? Porthos?"
"They are here as well," he set her down once it sank in his mind that this was the Queen of France he was holding on to.
"He said it was you when the fight started," she nodded, "But he took him Captain. Yvon took Aramis."
His first instinct was to rush out in search of his boy, yet between reflex and duty he would always chose the latter. Not really questioning how Her Highness knew about or why she was worried for Aramis; Treville simply nodded and promised her that he would look for the lad once she was safe.
"We don't have the time Captain," she snapped at him with all the nobility she was born with and was halfway down the staircase by the time he rushed after her.
He followed her down and managed to hurriedly squeeze out from behind the tilted slab. He looked to the door to see which way she was heading only to find Her Highness lightly stepping over the debris towards the more than half blocked window of the room.
Cursing under his breath and feeling like he was in an entirely different league of babysitting in contrast with what he went through with the King, Treville dashed after the girl who was making her way toward the long line of black iron cages. They both rounded around the corner of the stables at the same time and stopped dead in their tracks.
A large man who had his back to them was standing over a slumped figure held up only by the fist in the dark hair and from his position Treville could tell that the drawn blade was resting on the forcefully exposed throat of the man on the ground.
He didn't think but simply shot; a single ball of metal went through the man's heart and he crumpled forward. Treville glanced to his side to see the Queen dart ahead even as he lowered his pistol and by the time he reached her in a few quick steps she was sitting in front of the young man with dark hair.
"Are you alright my friend?" she asked in Spanish even as her hand reached for the sluggishly bleeding nick on the man's throat.
"I'm fine My Queen," he replied in Spanish and smiled up at her. With his bound hands he caught her fingers in a reassuring squeeze.
Finding himself rooted to the ground off to their side, Treville shifted from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable very unexpectedly so.
"Aramis!" Porthos's shout was enough to break the silent reprieve and the younger man turned to face the two Musketeers with a tired grin.
The Captain of the Musketeers stepped away a bit as did the Queen, when the big man rushed forward and caught the man still kneeling on the ground in a huge, very aptly termed, bear hug. It left the younger man wheezing out a laugh as he was set on his feet and the Captain was surprised to note that even Athos seemed relieved as he swiftly cut through the ropes binding Aramis's hands.
The man rubbed his wrists and smiled in gratitude, but it dropped the second his eyes fell on Treville. The older man saw the warm merriment and relief wash out of the brown eyes as they widened in recognition. The Captain nearly choked on a hard lump that shot up in his throat and stepped closer. His eyes drinking in the changes brought onto the young face; the beard and the mustache made him smile. But the weariness in the young man's eyes and the fear there had the Captain stopping short in his path just as the boy dropped his gaze. The younger man refused to look him in the eye and turned instead to Athos.
"You promised me a duel," he said almost in a whisper.
"I did,"
"You can hardly stand 'Mis" Porthos all but growled.
"I cannot allow you to duel," Treville stepped closer to the two and focused onto Athos when Aramis would not look at him, "You're a Musketeer and you know that dueling is illegal."
"It is the only honorable way for him to win his freedom," Athos reasoned.
"You do not hold the authority over his freedom," Treville snapped and it was the younger man who wouldn't meet his gaze that flinched at his words.
The way his son avoided his gaze had cracked something deep in his chest and the fact that he was actually flinching away from him was like a punch to the already fragile spot. He tried to reason it away that he was after all just a soldier to the lad who probably feared him for his knowledge of the younger man.
Treville forced down the father and let the soldier shine through instead, because the soldier could not turn a blind eye to this; he was the one who brought justice not the one who decided what justice was.
"He helped us save Her Highness," Athos said.
"We will appeal to the King," Treville replied, "We will ask him for mercy, for a lighter sentence."
"I will appeal to His Highness on your behalf." The Queen spoke up.
"You said if I won I will go free," Aramis still looked only to Athos, though his voice remained somewhat muted.
"I owe him this Captain, he saved our lives." Athos said.
He had lost his son to the boy's freedom once; Treville gave a resigned sigh at the thought of going through it again yet he gave a short nod of approval. Because hidden in this resignation was a hope as well, one that the soldier didn't want to recognize because it wished that that the boy would get his freedom and it feared that he just might not when the tremors in the lad's arms became apparent especially when he took the saber that Porthos offered.
Aramis could not look at the man the Musketeers called their Captain. The man knew him, he knew Rene. This was a man whom he had met for a very short while but in that small amount of time, the soldier had left a rather big impression. Aramis had been surprised by how deeply he had felt the man's disappointment the last time they had parted, he could not bear to receive it again. Because the truth of the matter was that he hadn't come across a man like Treville before he met the soldier. His father had died long before he had learned to speak the title and his uncle had been – Aramis shook his head and brought his thoughts back to the sword Porthos offered him.
He took the blade with a small smile and was surprised to see the mixture of fury and misery echoing from the entire being of the older man. Porthos looked like someone had shot his favorite puppy.
Forcing his legs steady, Aramis faced Athos. The Musketeer's face was blank but the younger man was quickly learning to read his shuttered expressions and found concern behind the veil of aloofness.
"The one who draws first blood wins," Athos said.
Aramis shook his head, he wasn't foolish enough to think that it would be him; with this rule Athos would win before he'd even be able to swing his sword.
"The one disarmed first loses," Aramis said.
Athos nodded, that was all the warning he got before two blades clashed in the light of the coming dawn. He had seen the Musketeer with a blade, even at his best Aramis knew that he would never be able to win this duel and with the fact that the world seemed to spin around him far more than normal he knew it was a lost fight.
But he was not going to give up, there was a lot riding on his freedom. If he was to lose then Athos would have to pry his weapon from his cold dead hands.
Meeting every attack the man threw at him with somewhat drunken movements, Aramis wasn't surprised when he found himself on his back again and again. But he would not relent, the sword in his hand was his freedom, he'd forfeit his life before he let go of it. He lay blinking and winded for a moment after his last fall. Not even registering the tip of the blade hovering over his neck.
"Yield," Athos said.
As an answer, Aramis knocked away the blade with his arm and stood en garde again although his arm shook under the weight of the sword. He knew he was fading fast.
The next rapid attack from Athos had him backtracking, only to stop when his back hit the stable walls. It wasn't that big an impact but on his bruised back it managed to shake the breath out of him. His sword dropped as he bent forward with a gasp, eyes clenched shut to focus on his breathing.
When he looked up Athos was standing over him with both swords in his hands but at rest. Aramis glanced at the group of Red Guards who had gathered to watch the show and found Porthos darting forward to help him ease straight.
For a moment it seemed the three of them were the only people there.
"If the worst comes for me, you must look out for the Queen." Aramis spoke in a murmur between them.
Porthos nodded but Athos glanced back, it seemed he was studying their audience. He didn't turn back but to the two but much to Aramis's surprise he tossed him his sword. The Musketeer looked to Treville as he raised in own sword.
"I'm sorry Captain," he said.
Aramis suddenly found himself dragged forward and back to back with Athos and Porthos. Belatedly he realized they were helping him get his freedom. The three of them stood swords and pistols raised at the Red Guards that surrounded them while the Captain of the Musketeers and the Queen of France looked both shocked and resigned.
Aramis looked from Athos to Porthos, these two men were risking their own lives, their freedom for his. There standing before a range of weapons Aramis was astounded by what these Musketeers offered him without being asked, they acted like they believed that he was worth saving and it humbled him regardless of what he thought of himself.
With grim set to his jaw he stepped away from the Musketeers and hoped that they could read the gratitude in his eyes before he dropped his gaze as he stepped in front of Treville. He offered the Captain his sword as Pierre swooped in with a rope, for these two men Aramis would surrender.
TBC
