Author's note: Set after S3 Ep6. A little dark maybe.

Chapter 8: Rain of a Thousand Flames

"You might want to think twice before you try to use a man's conscience against him. It may turn out he doesn't have one." - Brent Weeks, the Black Prism

Near Beauvais, Northern France, 1636

"What an ungrateful idiot," Porthos was complaining. "Seriously, as if we did not have anything better to do than deliver him whatever the King's up to these days. And all he cares about is the dirt of our boots on his marble floor."

Athos, who was riding next to his giant friend, snorted with a hint of amusement. "Good thing you don't have to participate at the court's politics. If this upsets you, I don't want to know what you would do there."

Porthos grunted in agreement. "That's why I leave that kind of work to you. Tell me who to punch, and I'll do it gladly, but spare me the hypocrisy of the aristocracy."

Athos just raised an eyebrow and steered his gaze back to the path they were travelling.

"You think Aramis and d'Artagnan finished their task?" Porthos was eager to keep the conversation going, probably only so he wouldn't get too bored on their way back to Beauvais.

Athos just shrugged. "It's not that hard to accompany Madame de Chaurnet and her husband to a meeting and back to their residence. What could possibly go wrong?"

Porthos laughed audibly. "Their mission sounds far more appealing to me than ours. Aramis probably managed to charm the Madame, just to gain more pleasures from his journey."

"The woman is married, Porthos," Athos pointed out.

Porthos snorted. "And? So was the Queen. Didn't hold him back either."

"Time passed. I doubt that's something Aramis would to these days." Athos really did not want to talk about this any longer than he had to. He was glad Porthos and Aramis sorted out their differences, but after all this time, he still had a hard time to adjust to the fact that none of them were the same persons they used to be a couple of years ago.

"No, you're right," Porthos admitted, having noticed Athos' irritated tone. "I'm just teasin' him."

"Perhaps try to do that when he is actually present, Porthos."

"Yeah. Noted."

They travelled on in silence, and Beauvais was finally revealing itself behind the hill. And with it came a smell, a smell that stung and burned in his nose. Fire.

"Athos!" That was Porthos' worried voice, and the swordsman followed his friend's gaze and could see a dark tower of thick smoke forming over a building in the outskirts of Beauvais. Without thinking twice, the two musketeers dug their heels into their horses' flanks and galloped down the path. Some citizen ran towards them, screaming in fear and crying for help.

"Messieurs, Wait!" A boy, maybe sixteen years old, crossed their path and Athos managed to pull at the reins last second so his large Friesian wouldn't run the boy over.

"You can't...there..." The boy bent over, and rested his hands on his knees.

"Speak up, lad," Porthos commanded, the anxiety evident in his voice. "We are tryin' to help." Athos and Porthos both had to leave their musketeer pauldrons behind, safe and sound in d'Artagnan's trustworthy hands, for the sake of letter they had just delivered. The boy did not recognize them as musketeers.

"We're musketeers of the King," Athos added in a calm, comforting voice. "What's going on?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly and he looked at them with skepticism, but he started waving into the direction of the fire.

"Someone set the shop of the blacksmith on fire. There are people in there! Please, you have to..."

"On it," Porthos interrupted and he spurred his horse into action and took off towards the building. Athos had some troubles steering his horse towards the flames and the smoke, but he eventually arrived just as Porthos was dismounting.

"Wait, Porthos!" Athos commanded, using his captain-voice. The musketeer looked back, impatient and with a hint of anger, but he obeyed until the moment his eyes caught sight of a woman standing a few feet away from them, her hands clasped in front of her mouth in shock.

"What's Madame de Chaurnet doing here?" Athos hissed, trying to ignore the growing concern in his guts. The two of them approached her hastily, and the moment her gaze fell on them, she ran towards them and almost collided with Porthos.

"Thank God you arrived!" she exclaimed while her husband slowly but surely walked up behind her. "They need help! They're..."

"Who?" Athos cut in sharply, grabbing the high-born lady a little too hard by the shoulders. She fortunately did not seem to mind, though Athos noticed her husband staring at him from behind with a look that spoke of sincere disgust.

"Your musketeers, Captain. We were told something about children in the building's basement...and your men took over the situation here."

"The children keep coming out of the building, but they really need help!" her husband threw in helpfully from behind, apparently putting his personal issue with Athos aside for the moment.

"Damn it!" Porthos cursed and turned on the heel, heading towards the house where the flames were already devouring the wood by the window. Athos was right next to him, eager to help his friends. It seemed like not only there were children in the house, but Aramis and d'Artagnan as well.

The two men did not get very far, as they were violently pushed back by a heavily armoured city-guard, that watched over the entrance with a grim look on his face.

"Stay out."

"They need us. There are still people in there!" Porthos yelled and the only reason he wasn't at the man's throat right now was because of Athos' firm grip around his arm.

"We have our orders. Any man going in there could mean one more life lost. Don't risk your life so foolishly, everything is under control."

"Oh yes?" Athos hissed with all the authority he could muster. "Then tell me why you are out here when there are children trapped in the burning basement?"

The guard seemed genuinely unimpressed.

"There are musketeers in there, they are dealing with the situation. The orders they gave us were quite clear."

"Yes, and I am their Captain," Athos growled and threw his cloak around his shoulders so the guard could catch a glimpse of his weapons. "You'd be very wise to let me pass now."

"Cap...Captain Athos, I'm sorry I..." Athos rolled his eyes and roughly pushed him out of the way.

"Get the children as far away from here as you can. Nobody gets any closer than thirty feet, understood?"

The guard nodded eagerly and started to follow his instructions. Athos and Porthos on the other hand ran over to the entrance. Porthos was wrapping his bandana around the lower part of his face, and Athos used his scarf to shield himself from the poisonous air. Internally, Athos was cursing how d'Artagnan and Aramis could so foolishly risk their own lives, but on the other hand, he knew that if the situation was reversed, he and Porthos would've done the same thing. There were many questions left unanswered, for example what in God's name children were doing in the basement of a blacksmith's shop, but Athos had his priorities set, and so did Porthos.

A quick look into the building gave Athos all the information he needed for now. The area around the entrance was mostly still untouched, but the flames and the fire were mercilessly raging in the opposite part of the room, devouring the wood and the curtains, destroying everything within its path. The thick smoke was hanging over the floor like fog, and Athos was barely able to make out the sound of a children's voice over the loud crackling of the fire.

Still, before he was able to do anything, a young man ran towards him, carrying a young boy, approximately four or five years old, in his arms. Athos recognized d'Artagnan under the layers of sweat, soot and a tiny bit of blood. The Captain wasn't sure his young companion even acknowledged his presence. He merely handed the child over to Porthos and ran right back in, one arm drawn up to cover his mouth.

"Wha..." Porthos' protest got lost under the immense noise of the fire, and Athos gestured him to get the child out and wait for further instructions. Meanwhile, he ran after d'Artagnan, and he found him bending over a square hole in the ground. A wooden ladder, that thanks to some miracle hadn't caught fire yet, led downstairs. The room they were in as well as the basement seemed to be on fire, mostly the wood on the walls as well as the wooden shelves where the blacksmith seemed to store...books? Books in a secret basement under a forge? No wonder it was burning like tinder.

Athos put his questions aside for the moment and made himself known by putting a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, drawing the man's attention towards him.

The Gascon looked up with watery eyes, and Athos also could feel the smoke stinging in his eyes already, making them tear up.

"How...many?" Athos tried to shout over the mix of fire crackling, broken furniture falling to pieces as well as children screaming in fear.

D'Artagnan managed something that looked like a half-shrug and he pointed downstairs. Athos followed his gaze and his eyes fell on their fourth member, Aramis, who was clinging onto the ladder while using the same arm to prevent the smoke from getting into his mouth, while he lifted a young girl up with the other. Athos did not need explanations; he just took the girl by the hand and pulled her upwards, before placing her in d'Artagnan's arms. His young friend nodded and stood up, staggering towards the exit with the girl in his arms.

Athos wanted to climb down the ladder to help Aramis, but the marksman just raised a hand, to signal the Captain to stop.

"How many?" Athos yelled and he wasn't quite sure at first whether his words had managed to reach his friend's ears. Aramis was coughing violently into his sleeve but jumped back on the hot tiles. As Athos watched the flames, he could see that there were lines of fire, very unnaturally forming a weird labyrinth on the basement's floor. Like lines of alcohol perhaps.

The smoke was beginning to reach through the scarf Athos had wrapped around his mouth and nose, and through the tears in his eyes, it was hard to see.

Aramis held up two fingers, as he did not have the strength in the voice to speak and answer Athos' question. Two. Two children yet to be rescued, at least that's what Athos interpreted. He could feel someone approach from behind and he noticed d'Artagnan had returned to his side. Athos was angry that he had returned in his condition, and he had no idea how the Gascon had succeeded in making Porthos stay behind, but that was not of importance right now. As he looked down again, he could see Aramis avoided getting hit by a burning beam that fell from the ceiling, or, seen from Athos' level, falling from the floor. The marksman stumbled backwards, gesturing violently for someone to come down. If Aramis admitted he needed help, things were really serious, Athos thought.

The captain could feel d'Artagnan next to him jump into action, but Athos declined him the possibility of helping Aramis. D'Artagnan looked hurt, exhausted and close to passing out. He would be no help down there, besides, someone had to stay upstairs. Athos just placed a hand on d'Artagnan's chest and shook his head, before he more or less elegantly joined Aramis in the basement.

The heat in here was excruciating. Athos squeezed his eyes shut against the heat floating through the poisonous air and he only opened them when he heard a scream. Athos' eyes searched for Aramis, but the marksman was only a few feet away, and about to collapse to the ground. Athos' heart screamed to come to his friend's aid, but he saw the two children waiting near the ladder, tears streaming over their faces and sheer terror in their eyes. Athos jumped towards them, and in his rush of adrenaline, he picked both of the young kids up and handed them up to d'Artagnan, who was now supported by Porthos' concerned and tense face. The big musketeer pulled the children up with ease and disappeared shortly after, probably to bring them into safety.

"Is that all?" Athos' voice was cracking with the effort of drowning out the other noises, but he knew that Aramis could hear him. He rushed towards his friend and stopped his complete descent to the ground just in time. "Aramis?" he asked again. He just needed to know that there were no more civilians down here.

"Eve...sa..."Athos did not understand all of the rasped words that Aramis managed to get out between his coughs, but he guessed that it meant that they had gotten everybody out. Everybody was safe. Well, except for Athos and Aramis, who were still in a room where the ceiling threatened to come down on them any second. And if the flaming wood would actually rain down on them, there was nobody left who could save them.

Athos pulled Aramis up by his arms and shoved him towards the ladder, still fighting against the raw sensation that had settled in his throat. The marksman was shaking terribly, and he winced as Athos pushed him up, steadying him with his arms. To his relief, d'Artagnan had enough strength left to pull Aramis up, and both of them crumbled to the ground.

Athos cursed internally and though he also felt his own strength being consumed by the heat and the smoke, he climbed the ladder as quickly as possible. Aramis wasn't moving, but d'Artagnan was propping up on his palms, his glassy eyes looking for Athos. The Captain could hear the wood creaking awfully behind him and as he shot a concerned look towards the bright flames, he was convinced the basement wouldn't have a ceiling for much longer.

He grabbed Aramis' arm and threw it around his shoulder, and though the marksman seemed to be mostly out of it, he still managed to take some steps. D'Artagnan scrambled to his feet with all his remaining strength and led the way for Athos, before he more or less ran into Porthos who managed to catch d'Artagnan just in time as he lost balance.

Athos made a slightly rude gesture towards Porthos to signal him that everybody should get out, and Porthos did not need to be told twice. He held d'Artagnan upright by the shoulder and dragged the younger companion outside and into the fresh and satisfying air, Athos followed with Aramis and dragged his motionless body as far as possible, until he too collapsed to the ground and they both landed on the leaf-covered earth. Porthos lowered d'Artagnan next to them and he, having inhaled not too much of the smoke, started shouting orders at the guards.

Athos sat up and tried to soak in everything around him, to assess the situation. There was still a huge crowd around them, watching with shocked expressions on their faces. They were being held back by the guards. A quick look towards the burning building told Athos it was beyond saving, there was no use in fighting the fire. Fortunately, the blacksmith was isolated from the other buildings, so the fire should not spread. D'Artagnan was writhing on the ground, his body trembling violently and his lungs trying to exhale the smoke through one coughing fit after the other. Porthos was there trying to steady him, one hand stroking soothingly over his hair. Aramis on the other hand barely moved, but his eyes were wide open, and he was gasping for the pure air.

"Water!" Athos yelled to nobody in particular, but he knew that there were enough people around them so that somebody would be able to help. Within seconds, he could feel the presence of a woman by his side, and he recognized her as Madame Chaurnet, a man with a blacksmith apron by her side. Probably the owner of this burning pile of wood.

Madame Chaurnet handed him a bottle of water and Athos poured it over Aramis' head and neck, before the marksman grasped it and took two deep sips out of the bottle. He then curled up on one side, gasping and retching, and he pressed one hand on his bloodied shoulder. Porthos to Athos' right was taking care of d'Artagnan, who seemed to calm down a bit. But he was desperately digging his fingers into Porthos' jacket, wheezing something Athos had a hard time understanding what it was.

"Did...everybody...out?" Porthos threw a concerned look towards the children, who all showed similar symptoms as his friends, but they seemed to be mostly unharmed.

"Yeah, yeah I believe you saved everyone," Porthos mumbled and gently patted d'Artagnan's cheek. "You did it, brother. Everybody's safe."

Athos was keeping a firm hand on Aramis' shoulder, waiting until the marksman was able to get some air into his lungs. Then, he stood up, and turned towards the blacksmith, his face like stone.

"Are you the owner of this building?" Athos asked matter-of-factly.

The blacksmith nervously shifted from one foot to the other. "Yes, Capt...eh, Sir. Or better I was."

Athos curled his lips and nodded slowly. "Alright. Then I suppose you can explain why you had a bunch of children in your basement?"

"I can, Captain." His mannerisms and his concerned looks towards the still recovering musketeers led Athos to the conclusion that the blacksmith did not have any crimes to hide. He straightened up. "I am...was the owner of this shop, selling my swords and daggers in the upstairs room."

"And downstairs?" Porthos threw in from the side, still holding a comforting hand onto d'Artagnan's arm, as the Gascon slowly started to sit up.

"My wife she..." The blacksmith cleared his throat nervously.

"If your conscience is clear, you should not fear the Captain's judgment," Madame de Chaurnet explained calmly, and Athos was surprised she was helping him here.

The blacksmith nodded. "My wife taught the children how to read, and how to write. Her father was a scribe, you know, and she passed it on to the children of those who cannot afford the necessary education. That's why they were down there."

Athos raised a questioning eyebrow. "And why was it so hard to tell me?"

The blacksmith bit his lip. "It's not exactly an official school. The guards have caused trouble more than once, saying I should not interfere in those affairs. I was afraid you would..." He stopped halfway through the sentence and looked to d'Artagnan and Aramis, who were slowly but surely aware enough of their surroundings to participate in the conversation.

"I don't know what reputation the musketeer regiment has here, but I assure you I have no intention of getting you into trouble for educating children," Athos explained matter-of-factly.

The blacksmith bowed his head and clasped his hands together in gratitude.

"Do you have any idea who could've done this?"

"I've seen him," a sharp voice joined their discussion. Athos turned his head and looked at the elderly woman who had spoken.

"And you are?" Porthos wanted to know.

"Messieurs, that's Céline, my wife."

Céline did not waste any time on polite gestures, she got straight to the point. Athos liked her already.

"This was a planned assassination. Someone wanted to see either us and the kids or your musketeers dead."

"What do you mean?" Athos was getting really worried. "Tell me everything you saw."

Céline nodded, her arms folded in front of her chest. "You see, there was this man visiting my husband's shop around noon. The kids hadn't arrived yet. He claimed that he wanted to have a look on my books, so I let him. When he did not return, I went downstairs to look, but he disappeared. Later that day, the children came to learn...I was upstairs for a few moments because I needed to fetch something, when I heard the screams and smelled the fire. It must've been this man. He planned all of this."

"Alright, that explains why you think he was after you and the children," Porthos said. "But what makes you think he was after us?"

"I don't know about you two," Céline explained and pointed at Porthos and Athos. "But your two musketeers here arrived shortly after the fire broke out. They told me to stay outside, so I did. And once they were inside, I witnessed how the very same man tried to block the entrance of our shop, so nobody would be able to escape the flames."

"Tried?" Aramis rasped. This seemed to be all news to him.

"I threw my axe at him." The blacksmith showed no sign of remorse or regret.

"You thre...you...?" Porthos looked so impressed he didn't seem to believe it truly. "And then he ran?"

Céline grunted affirmative. "He did. You two arrived only moments later."

Athos' had a strange feeling, and he just had to ask.

"Do you recall how he looked like?"

The woman grimaced. "Yes. He was an...uncomfortable man. Irascible, but dangerously composed at the same time. He freaked me out."

"About my height?" Athos mercilessly interrogated. "Dark hair and beard? A scar on his forehead?"

Céline furrowed her brow. "Yes, yes. A black cloak and a leathern armour. Shoulder long hair."

"Grimaud." The word escaped d'Artagnan's lips with so much disgust and hate it sparked Athos' anger anew. Aramis just let his head sink back against the pillar.

"We should've known," he whispered. Athos was barely able to contain his anger. He knelt down between Aramis and d'Artagnan, and put a hand on each of them, but his eyes were focused on something only he could see. Grimaud's face in front of his inner eye. What this man had already done, and he had done it without scruple.

"I am glad you two are okay," Athos spoke. "You did a magnificent job, my brothers."

"What are we going to do about Grimaud?" d'Artagnan wanted to know, his eyes looking sternly at his Captain. "He already trapped me and Porthos once. Now this, with all those innocent people? He needs to be stopped!"

Athos straightened up, his calm face just a mask to cover the rage he felt inside.

"We'll return to Paris. If Grimaud wants us dead, he should dare to face all four of us together."

"Are you sure it will end then?" It was Porthos who questioned Athos' statement to everybody's surprise. The big musketeer looked up, a gentle, but worried expression on his face.

"I know one thing for sure," Athos said coldly. "Grimaud will pay for his crimes. I will not rest until the day his swords meets mine."

And then he walked towards his horse, feeling his brother's worried stares in his back.

MMMM

Le bouclier rouillé, Paris, 1656

"Oh God," Gaulier choked out and was soothing his child on his lap. "And I complained about this murderer that gave me a real headache two years ago."

Brujon sighed. "Grimaud was like nothing I've ever seen."

"I know about the Cardinal," Rissé threw in absent-mindedly, his fingers stroking his cup. "But the Cardinal at least had a motive. And Rochefort?"

"A snake," Gaulier declared. "A dangerous one, but one that fought for his own sake and survival. And Athos and the others knew that. But Grimaud?" He let out a deep breath. "I did not experience him firsthand, but from what I can tell, he was one of the most cold-hearted, violent bastards the musketeer garrison ever encountered."

Brujon shuddered as he remembered Grimaud. And he remembered Athos, who also had a personal vendetta going against the man, and how Grimaud had turned all of their lives into hell.

"It was scary. Most of the times, we knew the enemy, or we knew men who were like the enemy. But this time?" He made a short pause. "This man had no morality, no humanity left."

"The real question is, how do men become like this?" Rissé said bitterly.

Brujon raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand?"

"My father used to say, when a man sets a world on fire out of pure hate, he must've once embraced it deeply*." Rissé scowled. "But well, no matter what, what Grimaud did...and all the things he tried to do...there's just no excuse. No true explanation."

"He's gone now," Brujon interjected, for the sake of Verde who was getting the looks of a scared puppy. "Grimaud has been killed almost twenty years ago."

"There will always be men like Grimaud," Gaulier said, his voice distant. "The question is whether they dare to face the musketeer's wrath again."

MMMM

Shorter one this time, as I've been busy with an entry for this month's challenge this past week, which should be uploaded soon.

I hope you still enjoyed it, (and yes, it was kinda inspired by the series finale) and I see you next week with a little chapter dedicated to Constance and d'Artagnan! Thanks for reading!

*quote by Kurt Tucholsky