Wow, I really feel slow between updates, it's just too much others things going on. I apologize, I wish to be better since you are all so fantastic with the feedback. You guys are wonderful.
Chapter 9
A hand suddenly grabbed onto Aramis' shoulder, and even though he was breathless from exhaustion, his reflexes still helped out when fearing danger. His elbow lashed up and back, hitting his target perfectly between the eyes. The attacker went down to his knees with a loud hiss.
And in the same second, Aramis realized he had just elbowed Porthos in the face. Aramis cursed under his breath as he knelt in the snow next to Porthos, a hand on each of his shoulders.
"Mon Dieu, I apologize my friend."
Aramis took a hold of Porthos hands and pried them out of the way, to see what damaged he had caused, but there was nothing visible on plain sight.
"It's alright." Porthos mumbled, blinking through the stars dancing in front of his eyes. "Y'just caught me square on."
"I'm sorry." Aramis mumbled again, his thumb rubbing carefully across the spot where he had placed his elbow.
"Nah, stop, I'm sorry too, should've called out a warning." Porthos said, swatting Aramis' hand away, the two of them joining hands and pulling each other to their feet.
"What do we do now?" Aramis mumbled, looking off into the distance to where their friend had been shipped off.
"Find d'Artagnan?" Porthos offered, putting an arm around Aramis' shoulders, his gloved hand going up and down Aramis' upper arm. He was shivering, the cold getting to him, and he knew he had to get Aramis to focus. He knew what the cold would do to his friend.
When they had arrived here, winter was just on the verge of breaking out, some frost on the ground in the morning, the ground hard and cold all day but greenery still clinging to the last remains of summer. Last night it had snowed a lot, and the ground was still covered white.
The bandits had fled as soon as d'Artagnan had been taken, some of them getting help by their own to get back on their horses, some of them stumbling down in amongst the trees. At the heat of the moment the thought hadn't crossed Porthos' mind, but right now he was happy that they hadn't actually killed anyone. There had been no need for deaths, the men had backed off after being knocked down and then not attacked again.
If there had been dead bodies sprawled out all over the field, Porthos knew that Aramis would've lost it by now. It didn't matter who the bodies belonged to, Musketeers or not, the cold, the snow and the dead bodies would without a doubt send Aramis crashing down into the dark abyss he'd been dragged out of so many times.
But right now, Aramis took a deep breath and tried to steady himself.
"Should we ride?"
"Maybe we can go back to than inn, ey?"
Aramis nodded. They hadn't been back to the abandoned inn since d'Artagnan fell there with Buttercup, and at the time it had been empty, but it couldn't hurt to have a second look at it, now could it?
D'Artagnan was relieved when the ride finally came to an end and someone grabbed him to get him down from the horse. The relief was quickly washed away as a pair of hands grabbed onto his legs and pulled, allowing him to fall hard, and face first, into the rough ground, without having the chance to brace his fall with his hands tucked behind his back. He twisted in the fall in an unconscious attempt to save his head, and instead his left shoulder and left side of the face took the biggest hit. He could not hold back his cry as he felt the shoulder slip out of place, and the ground was spinning in front of his eyes. As someone then roughly pulled him feet first across the uneven ground, the pain intensified and he was quickly surrounded by darkness.
Next time he woke, he found himself sitting in a chair, arms still tight behind his back and every movement sending radiating pain through his shoulder. His head was aching, and he had to swallow several times to keep himself from being sick into his own lap. Every breath left him wheezing and he couldn't remember last time he felt so miserable.
It took him quite the time to realize he wasn't alone in the room. As he heard a sound around him, he looked up and met the gaze of another man who was in there, sitting in a chair in front of him a few feet away, leaned back and one leg up over a knee. As their eyes met, the man smiled. It was not a smile that was settling any worry d'Artagnan might have had, it more had the complete opposite effect. It was a grin made from evil, and it made d'Artagnan's stomach clench.
"So you are awake at last." It wasn't as much of a question as it was a statement.
D'Artagnan took a tentative breath before talking, trying to keep his voice steady. "It appears so… Isaac."
D'Artagnan's guess appeared to be correct as the man in front of him grinned even wider.
"Ah, so you have heard of me, d'Artagnan."
"And you of me, apparently." D'Artagnan fired back, not in the mood for games. Isaac shrugged his shoulders.
"I like to keep up with whom my cousin socialize with."
"And I like to keep up with whom is trying to kill my brother." D'Artagnan mumbled back.
Isaac just smiled at the comment, before sitting up straighter in the chair, leaning forward with his hands in his lap. "You should be careful with your words, because Olivier's brothers tend to die."
"Good thing Athos is my brother then and not Olivier. The man you once knew died many years ago. The man I call brother will never again make the same mistake he once did… Such as trusting in you."
D'Artagnan knew instantly that his words had hit the mark. Isaac didn't have any cute words to cut back with, and d'Artagnan could see how his jaw clenched along with his fists. Isaac leaned back into the chair again, just staring down at d'Artagnan as both of them sat quiet.
A long moment of silence followed before Isaac talked again.
"Olivier will not be able to come out of this. I'm going to drag him so far down the hole that he will not be able to climb up. But he will have a choice. You won't have to die."
"And what choice would that be?"
"He can either watch you all die… Or he can disclaim his right as Comte."
"Meaning giving the claim of La Fére to you." D'Artagnan stated. Knowing Athos, he would not willingly give up his family's name, give up something he had sworn to protect, and especially not to someone like Isaac. But between that and watching his brothers die… There was no competition. He would be able to get on with his life without La Fére, but he would not be able to go on without his brothers.
Isaac was smiling again.
"Good plan, isn't it? Athos will never allow all three of you to die in front of him, so he will surrender his title to me."
"And then what? You think the townsmen will let you rule knowing your betrayal?"
"They'll adapt."
"There are over a hundred people living in La Fére. Athos has a lot of them on his side, willing to protect him."
"And there is three times that amount who still hate him for what happened to Thomas."
D'Artagnan bit the inside of his cheek, as he knew Isaac was right about that. Athos' words from their first visit to La Fére echoed through his head. 'Thomas, my younger brother. Everyone's favourite.' D'Artagnan swallowed before finding his voice again.
"And not a single one of them are standing behind you."
Isaac instantly saw red. "They will!"
"No, they won't." D'Artagnan answered back as calmly as he could. "They know you as the coward who watched his family die, was deported and then began spreading terror upon his return. You are willing to kill to claim a right of name?"
Isaac shot out of the chair, up on his feet, moving so close to d'Artagnan that he could feel his breath on his face.
"Olivier took everything from me! Everything! I knew nothing of fighting, I was still young, I had barely ever held a sword, nor fired a gun. I was scared! I know I should've died out there trying to protect my parents, but at the time I was too scared to do anything. I know it was wrong. I know I should've defended my honour and been brave… But I wasn't. I wasn't a soldier, I didn't know the first thing of a battle. And for that, Olivier took away everything I had. Not just my right of a name, but my comfort, my safety, my home and my friends… Everything I held dear was ripped from my hands. I was forced to the roads, alone and uncertain of everything. I didn't know anything about living outside of nobility, and all of a sudden I was completely, utterly alone. Olivier ruined my life. And I will return the favour."
D'Artagnan wanted to keep fighting with this man, but realized it was to no use. The man in front of him was someone who had spent almost 15 years hating, and it was not about to change in a heartbeat. No words would have any kind of effect on his mind anyway.
Isaac stood straight, and smiled deviously at d'Artagnan. "I will leave you alone for a while. Enjoy the rest, you will need it."
And with that he walked out of the room, leaving d'Artagnan alone to take in his surroundings. It was a single room, one door which through Isaac had left, and as it had been opened, he had been feeling the cold coming in like a wave, telling him it was probably leading to the outside world, not into another room of a house. In the corner of the room where buckets of water along with towels, rags and cloth, along with barrels of what probably had once held whisky or such. There were empty bottles on shelves along the walls, and as d'Artagnan turned his head around he saw the still once used to make brandy. D'Artagnan kept looking around, and was pleased to gaze upon his weapons, and even if he could not reach them, he was still glad he knew where they were when his chance of an escape present itself to him.
"Well, he's not 'ere." Porthos sighed as they walked away from the abandoned inn they had been to earlier. From the looks of it, no one had been here for days, and the two Musketeers figured that it had once again become abandoned, Isaac moving on once his location had been blown.
Aramis ran his hand through his face as he reached Belle, a worrying knot growing in his stomach. Nothing was going right. They had lost a brother, something that should never be allowed to happen, and he had begun to wonder if they had lost Athos too. It had been many days since he rode into the garrison, and Aramis thought he would be up and about by this time. And considering Athos hadn't returned to La Fére, could only mean he was not well enough to ride yet. And that had Aramis worried. He should've arrived by now.
Unless fever had taken him.
"Stop that."
Aramis turned at the sound of Porthos' voice, and he glared at the bigger man. "Would you be so kind and get out of my head, please?"
Porthos couldn't help but to smile. "No, not while those thoughts are going on in there."
"It is impossible for you to read my thoughts." Aramis stated, an eyebrow going up.
"I can read 'em on y'face." Porthos said as he grabbed a handful of Flip's mane, a foot in the stirrup, before heaving himself up into the saddle. Aramis followed suit, collecting the reins and moving Belle up right next to Flip.
"Athos should've been here by now."
"You always tell us no ridin' for a week after head injury."
"Yes. But none of you ever follow my instructions, especially not Athos."
Porthos gave a nod. That was true. The minute Aramis left the room they would all go and do exactly what he told them not to, and it would never end well. If it was one thing all of these men all had in common, it was stubbornness.
"Maybe we can send word to 'im. Tell what's 'appening."
"We could do that, but I don't know who in this town we could trust. Anyone could be Isaac's spy."
"True that. I'm sure Athos will be here before we know it."
"I hope so."
Porthos clambered down a big hand on top of Aramis' shoulder, giving in a good squeeze. Their eyes met, and they both smiled to each other, grateful to at least have each other, even if two of their brothers were scattered. There was no time to be worried right now, they had a mission to finish and work to do.
"So, where should we ride?"
"Well, when we walked around town first day someone told me of an abandoned farmhouse not too far from here. It's a long shot, but it's not like we have anything better to go at, right?"
Porthos nodded, and followed as Aramis gently pressed his calves to Belle's flanks, easing her into a walk.
As they were riding, Aramis couldn't help but let his mind wander. He tried to picture how Athos life had been before meeting him, and he tried to remember his own life before meeting his brothers. He barely could. The memory of Athos arriving to Paris though was one he couldn't seem to shake from his head.
"Another mission well done. I salute you, my brother, you did a splendid job." Aramis grinned as he lifted a cup in a toast to Porthos who sat opposite him by the table. Porthos grinned back, pleased with himself as they had managed not only to come scattered from a mission well done, but they had also managed to bring some Red Guards to shame along the way. It would always brighten up the mood in the garrison to have an ashamed Cardinal to deal with.
"As did you, Réne."
"Ah, would you stop that already." Aramis pouted like a child. Porthos had found out about his name just the other day, when the name had been called in the market square, and Aramis had turned around on a cue. Porthos finding out Aramis' real name had been like opening a door to an endless amount of teasing, and Aramis was just hoping it would pass soon.
"When it's not funny anymore, I will." Porthos promised, a grin spreading widely across his features, and Aramis could not hold is smile in either. He was just about to open his mouth to allow a clever repartee out, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by glass breaking and voices shouting.
Their instincts kicked in straight away, and both of them turned around with their right hands on the hilts of their swords. Turning to where the noise came from, the saw four Red Guards stepping in to attack a seemingly unarmed man. The man had clearly been drinking more than one bottle tonight, and he was swaying on his feet as he got up, standing with his back straight as he was having a staring contest with one of the guards.
They were too far away to be able to hear what was being said, but something sassy must've escaped the drunkards lips, because seconds later, all four Red Guards jumped him at once. Porthos was already on his way over to help the poor drunk, but Aramis had grabbed his arm, telling him to back off so they could see how it played out. And it didn't take long before the guards were whimpering on the ground. The man simply brushed off the wrinkles of his expensive-looking jacket before sitting back down to the table to finish his drink.
Aramis and Porthos stood like paralyzed by their table, just looking at the man. He had caught their attention for sure, not only with the way he fought, which had been focused, organized and tactical, but also by his entire presence. There was something about him that just grabbed a hold of their souls and shook them awake. 'Look at him, look.'
Two days later, neither Aramis nor Porthos had stopped talking about him, and Treville had grown tired of listening to them. 'If he is such a good fighter, tell him to come join the regiment,' had been Treville's words, and Aramis and Porthos had immediately jumped on the challenge. Treville had of course told them he did not mean that as a mission, but they were determined to accomplish it.
They didn't need to go far, or look deeply into any details – the drunkard was still in the same bar, with a bottle of wine present next to him. This might prove to be a tricky challenge.
They had taken the liberty to sit with him, simply dragging chairs over to his corner and sitting down next to him. He hadn't even looked up from his cup, but he had noticed them, since he spoke. "What'y want?"
His voice was slurry, as of a man who had clearly been drinking way too much. His hands reached for the cup, missed it due to poor coordination and almost knocked it over. Aramis managed to grab it before he did, and in the same motion, he had caught Athos' hand without that being the intention. This caused Athos' eyes to wander up, and meet the dark eyes of Aramis.
"We have a proposition to make you." Aramis smiled, putting on his charm out of habit. "Would you come with us?"
Athos looked at the man next to him, his vacant eyes darting from the face of a smiling fool down to his shoulder, where the shoulderguard was being shown proudly, the beautifully carved fleur-de-lis dancing before Athos eyes. Athos let out a snort, then looked back up to meet the smiling fool's eyes.
"Well, it's not like it can be any worse." Athos mumbled as he began to rise to his feet, swatting away the men as they tried to give him their hands. He didn't need any help, he had been walking since he was a year old, he knew how to do that. Silly, thinking he would require help walk-
The floor suddenly smacked him in the face, and it took him a moment to realize he had tumbled over. Wow, he felt like his pride and honour had just bitchslapped him. He laid there, trying to make his brain connect with his body, but the reactions were too slow. A pair of strong hands grabbed onto his armpits and heaved him back up, allowing him to meet the face of that smiling man. Where had he seen him before? Oh yeah… By the table…
"Can you walk?" Aramis had asked him, and Athos had nodded before vomiting all over his boots.
Aramis looked up with a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and Porthos had just laughed, patting Athos' back while holding him erect.
"He'll be fine. Let's just give him a day to sober up before he put a sword in his hands."
"Yes. And when he sobers up he can go out and buy me a pair of new boots."
"You walk the streets of Paris, a little wine-induced vomit is not too bad."
Aramis seemed to be thinking about the statement for a while, and realized Porthos was right. He would daily step into worse things as he walked down the disgusting streets of Paris, and he would – several time a day – scrub his boots. This was just like all of those times, or at least that was what he was telling himself right now.
"Okay, come on drunkard, let's get you a bed." Porthos grinned, an arm around Athos' waist, which he of course tried to swat away, but literally missing the arm with his hand, swatting in the air.
"Don't call me that." He mumbled, face in a deep frown.
"Then what do we call you?" Aramis offered, falling in step next to the pair as they slowly made their way towards the garrison.
"Athos." He mumbled. "My name is Athos."
D'Artagnan whipped his head up as the door was opened again. This time there was an even colder breeze coming claiming the air inside his room, and d'Artagnan could see the darkness beyond the door, before it closed behind the man who had walked inside. It was not Isaac this time, it was someone unfamiliar to d'Artagnan, a man in his 30's holding a bottle of broth.
"Isaac wants you to eat." He motioned, walking towards d'Artagnan with the bowl, and d'Artagnan hoped the man would cut him loose so he could eat by himself… And then knock the man down and escape, of course. But his hopes were crushed as the ma simply picked up the spoon and intended to feed him, as if he were a baby.
"I eat with my own hands, I don't need someone's dog to feed me."
The man instantly saw red, which was exactly what d'Artagnan had hoped would happen.
"I'm no dog!"
"Of course you are, allowing yourself to be hectored by Isaac. He's got you trained well I see, you could totally pass for a maid at any court."
The bowl of broth was shoved aside, and d'Artagnan had to push away the urge to roll his eyes. It was apparently a very sour pressure point, not very many men would have taken it so personally, and so hard. But d'Artagnan didn't mind, it was saving him time, and it was everything he hoped for as the man pulled a small dagger out of his boot, and made his move.
D'Artagnan braced himself, knowing this would hurt, but it would hopefully be worth it. He focused on the dagger in the man's hand, and as the man walked towards him with swift steps, he took a deep breath before focusing.
As the man approached, d'Artagnan lashed out his leg, hitting the hand holding the dagger with a hard kick, sending the dagger flying out of the man's hand. With his foot back to the floor, he pushed the chair back while keeping his eye on the dagger, trying to catch it with his bound hands, but he could feel it slip through his fingers and land on the floor right behind him. The man who had attacked came rushing towards him, and d'Artagnan braced himself yet again before landing a well-placed kick between the man's legs. As he hunched forward, he kicked again, hitting the side of the man's head with great force, sending him unconscious to the floor.
There, that part done. Now he just needed a way to retrieve the dagger so he could cut himself loose. But the dagger was still underneath him, and there was only one way for him to reach it. And that would hurt, a lot. But if he could get out, then he could get to Aramis' caring hands.
Giving himself a moment to prepare, he took a couple of deep breaths before tipping the chair backwards. His shoulder screamed at him as he hit the floor, his arms aching from taking all his weight, and it took all he had to not pass out from the pain. His head had of course bounced on the hard floor and he could feel everything sway in front of him. But knowing he had to get out of there, he managed to pull through the pain and nausea, and the fingers of his unhurt arm found the dagger. It took him a few moments, as he was not able to see what he was doing, but soon he had the dagger in place and managed to cut through the rope binding his arms together.
It was a great relief being freed from his bonds, and he carefully moved his fingers on his right arm, trying to get the stinging sensation out. He didn't dare do it to his left, it was giving him pain enough as it was, and insteady he got up on unsteady legs, reaching out blindly for something to hold onto, as everything seemed to tilt in front of him. His hand found a cold wall, and he leaned forward, and breathed through the nausea until it passed. As it did, he opened his eyes carefully, and decided it was time to move while he could.
He took hold of his weapons from the corner of the room, and found a cloth big enough to use as a sling to tie down his arm. He knew he would need help to reset it, and he could also tell he wouldn't make it very far away from here before exhaustion and pain took a hold of him. Better to bind the arm instead of injuring it further when nausea would bring him down. His black boat cloak was there along with his weapons as well, and he carefully placed it over his head, bringing it down to keep the shoulder still.
He peaked his head out through the door, and then he took off before anyone could catch up. Just like he thought, the doors led outside, and the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. It felt like the world was growing colder by the minute. Winter definitely was arriving, and it was approaching fast. He would have to hurry if he were to find his friends before he would be brought down by the elements.
The only problem was that he had no idea really of where he was, or where he was going. Looking around he decided to just start wandering one direction, hoping it would lead him… somewhere.
