Trigger warning: Please be aware that there are very graphic depictions of violence ahead.


Chapter 7

The carriage door gaped open like a skeleton's jaw. Black and menacing, silently beckoning d'Artagnan to come forward and be delivered to the fate of all dead things. And if he got in, d'Artagnan knew he'd never escape death. After the travels spent in chains, there would be no more reprieve before he was convicted, incarcerated, interrogated, tortured and killed. Not necessarily in that order but with one very certain, very final outcome.

His steps faltered as he warily eyed the vehicle, a cold gust of wind caressing his bare skin like the breath of the grim reaper. He shivered involuntarily, causing the manacles to rub irritatingly against his skin. Perhaps he should do a Lord Duncan and run for all he was worth - and so what if he didn't get three steps before the bandit's musket that was being held to his back was discharged and put him out of his misery? It might be better than the alternative.

But he couldn't do it, not while Aramis was in there somewhere with a madman for company. Not if Constance was out there waiting for him to come home. d'Artagnan owed it to her to at least try and find a loophole in his contract with Death. But how?

There was no fool's bargain he could strike, nobody to plead with – Bonnaire was not one to be reasoned with as long as one didn't have a sizable bribe in sight and Athos had been unreachable even while he rode right next to him for days on end. Moreover, there was no daredevil escape to be launched, no ingenuous plan to be set into motion and definitely no backup laying in wait. So play for time, a small childlike part within him supplied. Athos will save you. And although d'Artagnan recognized it as the part of him that desperately wanted to believe in the good in people, making it unreliable in situations like these, he didn't see any alternative but to give his trust away to somebody he wasn't sure deserved that valuable gift any more.

"So tell me, Bonnaire, how did you end up as the liaison between an enemy country and that mad upstart?", d'Artagnan asked only to receive an angry poke from the bandit behind him. A look over his shoulder at the orange-haired youth confirmed that he'd angered the boy with the derogative term. Unabashed, d'Artagnan grinned at him and earned a hint of fear in those open brown eyes. That one won't be much of a problem, he thought to himself, then straightened as he was prodded forward while Bonnaire answered.

"Oh, it was all a stroke of luck, purely coincidental, I promise you. See, I was gambling with two beautiful ladies and told them of my heroic actions when one of them outed herself as a follower of Lord Du Caine...", Bonnaire explained in his usual charming but sleazy manner.

The tale grew whereas the distance between the Carriage To The Other Side was eaten up by each step. Twenty paces. Bonnaire was meeting Du Caine for the first time and was impressed by his ambition. Fifteen paces. The gun on his spine would not waver. Bonnaire was doing odd jobs for the rebel forces. Ten paces. Athos' hand was like a vice on his arm. The wind had picked up again. d'Artagnan swallowed and fought down nausea. Five paces. Still nothing from Athos. Bonnaire had made contact with the Spanish and began to carry messages back and forth. Oh no, this was happening. No cheating the hangman this time. Three paces. One.

"Alrighty then, let's get d'Arty settled", Bonnaire announced and hopped into the interior of the carriage, leaning out to grasp the chains between the musketeer's hands. Athos' grip on his brother's arm loosened and d'Artagnan had to clench his teeth hard in order not to cry out for help. With his hands balled into fists to prevent them from shaking, d'Artagnan put one foot onto the carriage steps, casting a glance at his one-time friend and mentor. And then Athos winked at him.

d'Artagnan stopped as if suspended in time, utterly floored and no doubt presenting a hilarious facial expression to Athos. He felt the hand on him tighten and something clicked like a stuck cog wheel finally reengaging. The childlike voice shouted in triumph as both d'Artagnan and Bonnaire understood that something fundamental had just changed, but while Bonnaire gulped like a stranded whale, d'Artagnan let himself go limp and fell backwards. He trusted Athos with his body, mind and soul, a fact which the swordsman took full advantage of.

His strong grip pulled d'Artagnan from the step of the carriage and spiraled him into the bandit behind him, prompting the two men to fall in a mess of intertwined arms and legs. Bonnaire, who had held fast to d'Artagnan's chains was promptly stopped from following after by having the carriage door slammed into his face as Athos turned and threw his weight against the red door. Even after falling and being as stunned as the Captain of the Musketeers was, he could hear the impact of wood meeting nose, the nose giving way under the onslaught.

d'Artagnan coughed, tried to gather his senses and some air after he'd hit the earth. The bruises on his back made themselves known with a ferocious throbbing which further hindered his efforts to get to his feet.

Fortunately, Athos was there not a second later. Their fingers met in a strong clasp that could neither be prohibited by the iron that encircled d'Artagnan's wrists nor by the unspoken words that hung in the air between them like mist.

"Athos!" Apparently, d'Artagnan wasn't the only one left with unsettled business with the swordsman. The young bandit stared at the ex-comte with heartbreak. "What are you doing?"

"Farouk, put the weapon down." What weapon? d'Artagnan had been so swept up by his emotions that he hadn't seen the goddamn thing being pointed at him until it was mentioned so carelessly.

"No!", the boy shouted and before either of the Musketeers could react, the bandit aimed a kick at d'Artagnan's ankles that was very similar to the Gascon's own technique on the evening of his capture. Albeit a lot less elegant it was nonetheless effective and made d'Artagnan crash to his knees painfully. Without the reassuring physical contact of Athos' hand, d'Artagnan suddenly found himself kneeling in the no-man's-land between two warring forces of nature, both of which were potentially lethal.

His breath got stuck somewhere in his throat as he acknowledged the fact that Farouk could still easily end his life and prevent him from ever seeing Aramis or Constance again. Athos seemed to have come to the same conclusion because he deliberately backed up a yard or two, leaving d'Artagnan to be picked up like a prize.

Or like a puppet on two masters' strings, d'Artagnan mused grimly while he was yet again seized by his chains. The black mouth of the musket shifted to Athos, even though it shook slightly. Upon seeing this d'Artagnan remained very still. He had no intention of getting himself or his brother shot with any misguided heroics on his part. There simply was no way to reach the gun before Farouk had time to pull the trigger.

"Yar one of us!", the boy screamed, loudly declaring his anguish to the world.

"I was never one of the rebel lord's court. Du Caine is mad, can't you see that, Farouk? He would lead us all into disaster if we let him."

"No! He will be King an' then..."

"He will never be King. If not me, men like Aramis or d'Artagnan will stop him long before he can do any damage."

"We nearly killed them boy king!"

"And are you proud of that, Farouk?", Athos asked with that fearsomely serious voice that cut straight beneath your skin. The farmer felt it too, d'Artagnan could see his reddish eyebrows pull together in honest contemplation. His forehead was shining with sweat and that musket kept on shaking.

d'Artagnan's gaze went back to his steadfast mentor who obviously had built some kind of rapport with this adolescent. However, d'Artagnan feared that it might not be enough to compel Farouk to change sides, mainly because that would be walking away from everything he'd known in his short and very confined life. Perhaps as former nobility, Athos could not see it as clearly as d'Artagnan could. Or perhaps Athos was just sick of all the innocent blood that had already been spilled.

"Killing a child will not make the world a better place. And Du Caine is far too volatile to be a good king. Hell, he couldn't manage the country for an hour before it descended into civil war. See him for what he is, Farouk."

"He is my King, our leader! How couldya betray him? Ya swore an oath!"

"I lied in order to prevent regicide."

"Ya have no honor, ya betrayed us all! Betrayed me! We were friends, yes? Was I not goodtanough for them high and mighty Athos of the musketeers no longer? Why was I not good enough?", Farouk ranted, tears now streaming over his cheeks. His sobs racked his whole body and thus transferred onto d'Artagnan. And the Captain could understand the sinkhole that followed the loss of a friend like Athos. Thus he also knew how hard it would be to forgive this abandonment. If it had been a long process for an educated, worldly-wise soldier like d'Artagnan, would it be impossible for a farm boy turned rebel?

"Farouk -"

"I tried! I tried so hard ta please you. Yet it wasn't enough. Why am I not enough? What did I do wrong? What makes 'im so much better than me?", the boy wanted to know and shook d'Artagnan by the collar, who groaned in pain at having his injuries jostled. Athos' eyes landed on him and the concern that was visible in them spurred Farouk into action.

His hand with the gun whipped around and dealt his captive a staggering blow to the temple. d'Artagnan, disoriented but still aware enough to recognize the chance, let himself be propelled onto his belly. His chin scraped across the stones of the path until one carriage wheel halted his body.

As fast as his syrup-filled body would allow, d'Artagnan twisted around and beheld Athos and Farouk standing not three paces apart, each pointing a loaded musket at each other's chest. From this distance, d'Artagnan knew that Athos' advantage of being a great shot was irrelevant. Should a ball be loosened, it would find its target.

"Don't do it", he croaked. "Don't do it."

"Why not? It's not like I have anything or anyone lefta loose", Farouk answered to d'Artagnan's plea. His young features were marred with guilt as he glanced at the Captain and the blood that was tinting the sand beneath them in the color of summer roses. d'Artagnan tried to make eye contact but failed.

"Yes you do! You have the most important thing left to loose there is: yourself. Shooting him would make you a killer. It changes you. Don't kill that part of yourself, you'll never get it back", d'Artagnan said. For a moment he thought he'd actually gotten through to the distraught young man. The musket was lowered a few degrees as Farouk took a deep breath and met d'Artagnan's intense gaze.

"Yar right. But I've lost that part of me long ago. I was nine."

The carrot farmer looked straight at Athos as he uttered the last words while his arm that gripped the weapon in a sweaty palm swung around to d'Artagnan. Struck by sudden clarity, d'Artagnan saw each individual muscle in Farouk's hand tense and saw the trigger descend slowly. The shot was ear splittingly loud, ripping open the fabric of d'Artagnan's existence.

The Captain rocked back, blinked. Waited for the pain to follow the bullet, for the inevitable blood to spurt from his opened chest. Instead he was assaulted by a spray of red from above. As if a paint brush had been flipped by the fumbling finger of a god, a pattern like a warm and wet storm blast hit his face. In his state of perspicuity, he could feel every single drop on his skin in nightmarish detail, every thundering heartbeat and every glorious breath that reminded him that he was still alive.

"d'Artagnan?"

"d'Artagan, are you alright?" He must have been calling for a while now. Athos. Bending over him, unlocking his manacles.

"I… yes. I, for a moment I thought… I thought you were too late."

"Me too", Athos admitted, abnormally overcome with emotion. He leaned close and d'Artagnan took the opportunity to hug him briefly, closing his eyes with the renewed sense of safety that originated from being in the presence of his big brother. Then d'Artagnan released Athos and saw the unmoving farm boy lying next to them.

That could have been me. In a different life, had Athos, Porthos and Aramis not decided to pull me into the fold, that could have been me.

"Farouk?", he asked.

"Dead." Although Athos' mask was back in place, deep sadness was slipping through the cracks. d'Artagnan felt likewise, knowing they had both failed the youth. "I'm sorry."

"Yes. Me too, d'Artagnan. Me too."