Thank you for the great reaction to the last chapter. Our boys are reunited in this one - enjoy!
As they'd ridden, Athos' mind conjured one terrible outcome after another for his friends if their instincts about the men they'd been after were correct. He could see the same fears reflected in Porthos' eyes the few times the path they travelled had widened enough for them to ride side by side. As they came within sight of the inn, they both slowed their horses, doing their best to stay out of view of the inn's front windows. Dismounting behind the stable, they tied their horses and drew their pistols, staying low as they crept silently to the doors of the inn. Confirming Porthos' readiness with a glance, Athos placed his hand on the door and exerted gentle but steady pressure. The door didn't yield, a sure sign that it was locked from the inside. Easing away again, the two men made their way back to the stables where they could remain out of sight and regroup.
"Seems odd that an inn would close its doors in the middle of the day, don't it?" Porthos observed.
Athos was peering around the corner of the stable, looking for other potential entrances. "Thoughts?" he asked the other man.
Porthos conducted his own examination of the inn and recalled what he knew of the layout. "There's a door at the back leading to the kitchen," he suggested.
"Probably barred also unless our prisoners are complete morons," the two men shared a look, "so, worth checking."
"There's the second floor windows," Porthos offered, "if we could find a ladder, I could get in one of those and unlock the door for you."
"That's a very gracious offer on your part, Porthos," the larger man grinned at Athos, "especially considering you'd have to fight your way through at least four men to reach the door."
Porthos shrugged and grinned, "What are friends for?"
"So we have no way in and our friends are likely in the hands of our escaped prisoners. Anything I've missed?" Athos queried calmly.
"That's about got it," Porthos agreed.
"Then I suppose the direct approach will have to do." Athos holstered his pistol and moved away from the stable, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as he approached the inn. Porthos shook his head at his friend's apparent lack of self-preservation, even as he carefully pointed his pistol toward the inn to protect his friend's approach.
When he was 15 feet away from the door a voice halted him. "That's close enough Musketeer. State your business."
Lowering his arms slightly, Athos called back, "It seems you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Monsieur. You know who I am but I know not who I'm addressing."
"You may not know me, Musketeer, but you know of me. I am one of the men you've been hunting at the Comte's request."
Athos inclined his head slightly, "Does this mean you're here to surrender?"
A bark of laughter met his question, "I like you, Musketeer, but no, we have other plans."
"I see," Athos considered, "and are you amenable to sharing those plans?"
"All you need to know is that we'll be lightening the Comte's treasury before we leave here," the voice returned.
"Then, might I enquire about the state of my fellow Musketeers?"
"d'Artagnan is fine," the voice answered, "Aramis is still napping."
"Ah," Athos nodded, "yes, Aramis does like his sleep." He answered neutrally as if unaffected by the implication that Aramis was unconscious. "I realize they may be troublesome to your plans, so I'd like to offer to take them off your hands."
A second bark of laughter sounded from inside the inn. "I will have to decline your generous offer, Musketeer, your friends are integral to my plan."
"May I ask in what way?" Athos countered.
Apparently feeling secure in his position, the man answered, "The Comte will pay a ransom to us for their release."
Athos' face fell, knowing that no one, including the Comte, would pay these men anything to secure his friends' release. "I feel obligated to point out that you've been misled about the value of a Musketeer's life. The Comte will no more pay a ransom for our friends than he would for the release of his stable boy."
A long period of silence followed and Athos began to believe he'd miscalculated with his last comment. Finally, the voice reappeared, "You seem an educated man, Musketeer. What do you suggest?"
Athos cocked his head as though considering the man's question, "Are you asking me to advise you about how you can steal from the Comte?"
"If you want to save your friends' lives, then yes."
Athos nodded, "Very well then. I'll need the assistance of my fellow Musketeer who is far more experienced in these matters and we'll need to come inside. It's freezing out here and you cannot expect that we'll blindly offer our assistance without first checking the status of our friends and while facing the prospect of freezing tonight."
The voice inside seemed unsurprised by Athos' demands and replied immediately, "Drop your weapons outside, your friend too, and then stand in front of the door. We'll open it and let you in when we're satisfied that you're unarmed. Also, you'll agree to have your hands bound while you're in here. Do we have an understanding?"
"Agreed," Athos replied. He looked over his shoulder, motioning for Porthos to join him, the larger man shaking his head at the situation Athos had just created, and removing his weapons to store them in the stable before he went. Athos removed his weapon's belt also, throwing it to Porthos who secured them with his own before the two men moved to stand in front of the door as they'd been ordered.
The door opened slowly, a pistol pointing at them as someone inside examined them for weapons, and then was opened fully to allow the men to move inside. The heat of the inn was a welcome change from the cold in which they'd spent the last several hours. They were motioned to move further inside the common room and a man with rope approached them, motioning to their hands. Rolling his eyes, Porthos extended his arms in front of him, allowing the man to wrap the rope tightly around his wrists. When Athos had been similarly restrained, one of the men stepped forward to introduce himself, "I am Faulcon and I am the leader of this group, such as it is. You are?"
"Athos and Porthos of the King's Musketeers," the older man replied. "If it's not too much trouble, we'd like to see our friends before we continue our conversation."
Faulcon motioned toward the stairs and as Porthos moved to follow Athos, the swarthy man found his path blocked by a pistol at his chest. Sensing his friend's lack of movement, Athos paused and looked back, raising a questioning eyebrow at Faulcon. "Your friend will stay here while you visit the others." Nodding to Porthos, Athos resumed his journey up the stairs and to the room they'd been sharing. Faulcon and another man followed him up and he was surprised to find the room unguarded; when he entered the room, he understood why.
Aramis lay on the far bed, deathly still and pale, an unpleasant reminder of the state he'd been in only a few days ago. Despite the fact that the man was obviously unconscious, ropes held his arms and legs. On the floor next to the bed, d'Artagnan leaned his back against the bedframe, his legs stretched out in front of him and tied at the ankles, and his uninjured arm tied firmly to the bed post. Athos could see the young man's desire to speak as soon as he'd entered and he held up a hand that only the Gascon could see, indicating that he should remain silent.
Turning slightly, Athos watched Faulcon's expression as he moved forward to his friends; seeing nothing adverse, he assumed permission to check on them. Arriving at the bed, he turned sideways to sit on it, allowing him a view of both his friends. As he leaned forward, he spoke to d'Artagnan in a normal tone of voice, ensuring its pitch carried easily to the bandits, lest they believe they were being deceived and reacted poorly. Athos gently lifted one eyelid and then the other, noting the uneven pupils and poor reaction in both of Aramis' eyes. "You are well, d'Artagnan?"
The young man seemed flustered by the question, but responded anyway, "I'm fine, thank you."
"Mmm," Athos hummed, "And Aramis?"
"They hit him on the head," the Gascon answered bitterly. "He hasn't woken since it happened."
"I see," Athos replied.
"How did they catch you," the Gascon questioned.
"They didn't," Athos explained dryly, "we have reached an accord and will be helping these men in exchange for your safe release."
"What?" d'Artagnan spluttered, "You can't help them. They're thieves and they're trying to rob the Comte."
"I'm well aware," Athos began.
"Then what were you thinking, giving yourselves up. Your duty is to protect the King and the nobles, not to coerce them into assenting to these men's demands!"
Athos' face grew cold as he addressed the young Gascon, "I assure you that I do not need to be lectured by you about my duty. I have been a Musketeer for many years and know far better than you the demands and sacrifices required."
d'Artagnan's jaw snapped closed at the reprimand which was a chilling reminder of the disquiet that had been growing between them. Clearly, he had overstepped again and failed in his promise to himself to follow the other man's orders without question.
Before anything more could be said, a shout was heard from the main floor, moving the bandits to action. One man pushed Athos to his feet, moving him away from his friends, and positioning him within view of the open door with the pistol to his throat. When Faulcon was satisfied that his man had the Musketeer under control, he descended the stairs to find his men brawling with the fourth Musketeer. Moving decisively, he pulled his pistol and hit the side of the Musketeer's head, stunning him sufficiently that the other bandits could gain an upper hand. Once he'd been subdued, the two men raised Porthos to his feet and pushed him towards the stairs, forcing him to walk while another held a pistol to his back.
When the bandit holding Athos saw his friends returning, he backed away a step, still aiming his pistol at the Musketeer. Faulcon was enraged by Porthos' actions and ordered the two Musketeers bound to the chairs. When they had been tied at the ankles and chest, their arms moved behind them and retied, Faulcon turned to address Athos, wagging a finger at him accusingly. "We had an agreement," he pointed at Porthos, "and your man broke it. There are consequences for betrayal."
Athos remained silent, knowing that they would all take advantage of any opportunity to overpower their captors. He watched as the bandit motioned to one of his men, "Daumont, what did you find under the boy's shirt?"
Daumont strode forward cockily, placing himself within a couple feet of the Gascon. "Looks like a broken arm to me."
"A broken arm," Faulcon grimaced in mock sympathy, "an extremely painful injury, wouldn't you say."
"Sure is," Daumont grinned.
Faulcon addressed the Musketeers again, this time ensuring he had not only Porthos' and Athos' attention, but d'Artagnan's as well. "Every time you try to fight against me or my men, I will punish him," he pointed at the Gascon. "Daumont."
The man closed the gap between himself and d'Artagnan, grinning wickedly before pulling his leg back and releasing a kick aimed at the young man's arm. d'Artagnan wanted to be strong but the agony that ignited was overwhelming and a howl of pain escaped him, leaving him bent forward protectively over his damaged limb, shaking and panting. At the young man's scream, Porthos looked ready to attack the bandits, regardless of the chair he was bound to, and a deep growl was pulled from his throat. Athos was somewhat less obvious in his reaction but his hands and jaw clenched at the treatment of their youngest member.
Faulcon allowed several moments for the Musketeers to fully comprehend the young man's pain before addressing Athos, "Let me remind you of the reason you're here, which is to assist me and my men." He looked next at Porthos. "I'll give you an hour to prepare a suitable plan to make us all rich. I'm certain that you understand what is at risk if you don't."
The bandits followed Faulcon out of the room, leaving the door open and the men to themselves, still sitting in stunned silence at the brutality of the men and the pain they'd inflicted upon d'Artagnan.
Porthos caught Athos' eye and questioned softly, "This was your plan?"
Athos shrugged as much as his bindings allowed. "Not this last part, no, but we do need to come up with a plan that removes their advantage," he said, referring to d'Artagnan and Aramis, "and allows us to put an end to this. Any ideas?"
It took d'Artagnan several minutes to recover enough that he felt able to open his eyes; they'd closed at Daumont's brutal kick, when he found his entire left side engulfed in an agony so great that he thought he might be ill. The shock of the blow had left him covered in a sheen of sweat and trembling hard as his mind tried to process the overwhelming pain he'd suffered. Now, lifting his head from his chest, he straightened to sit back against the bed, catching Porthos watching him carefully.
"d'Artagnan?" the swarthy man questioned, with worry etched into every feature of his face.
"I'm fine," the Gascon managed, pleased by the strength he'd managed to put into the two words. The look on Porthos' face indicated his obvious disagreement with the young man's assertion, but he allowed the deception, knowing there was little to be done at the moment.
Across from him, Athos raised an eyebrow at Porthos who shook his head; now was not the time to push the boy, besides they had other things to worry about. As the two men talked in low tones, trying to develop a plan to remove them from their current situation, d'Artagnan tugged on his tied arm. The rough twine of the rope bit into his wrist and pulled the arm back uncomfortably, placing unnecessary strain on his healing ribs and, overall, causing him to feel even more miserable. Deciding that he could not sit idle while his two friends planned, he began to pull the rope at his wrist up and down along the bed post where it was attached, hoping to be able to weaken the fibres sufficiently to free himself. If nothing else, he would like to at least be able to check on his friend lying behind him, if needed.
If the two men noticed his actions, they gave no indication, heads leaning towards each other as much as their bindings allowed. At one point Porthos looked up at him, before returning to his hushed conversation with Athos and the boy found himself mildly annoyed that he had no say in what would happen next. He realized that both men had far more experience than he did with these sorts of situations, and Athos was an especially gifted strategist, but it made him wonder if the reasons for his exclusion stemmed from more than his relative inexperience with such things. He stared at Porthos for several seconds, wishing him to make eye contact, but the man remained in his hunched position, conversing with Athos.
Allowing a soft huff of frustration, d'Artagnan let his head fall back to rest on the bed behind him as he continued to work the rope at his wrist. As he continued in his efforts, he felt something at his head and realized that Aramis must be moving behind him. Shifting his body and craning his head around, he was able to see Aramis' face and the right side of his body. He stayed in this position for many moments, waiting to see if the movement he'd felt earlier would be repeated; it finally was. It was Aramis' right arm that lay next to d'Artagnan's head and it was this same arm that now twitched again, catching d'Artagnan's observant eyes. While the young man felt intense relief at his friend's imminent return to consciousness, he found himself wishing that the man had remained asleep a little longer, at least until the Gascon had freed himself so that he could ease his friend's return to wakefulness.
As expected, Aramis' waking was slow and painful, a quiet moan signalling the pain that was throbbing through his head. Added to that was confusion, not remembering the events leading up to his current state, and panic when he discovered his limbs not only heavy and difficult to control but bound as well. As soon as d'Artagnan noticed the man attempting to prop open uncooperative eyelids, he began to murmur words of comfort to his friend, trying to keep him calm lest he react badly and injure himself further. "Aramis, be calm. I know you're hurting and confused but know that all is well." The young man was rewarded by another groan as he watched Aramis' eyes roll around in his head, struggling to focus. "Aramis, it's fine, we're all here with you. Can you hear me, Aramis?"
He could see the panic beginning to take over as his friend remained unaware of the Gascon's words and started to tug weakly at the bonds that held his wrists. A heartbreaking whimper escaped the man at his inability to free himself and d'Artagnan redoubled is efforts to calm his disoriented friend. "Aramis, stop, you must remain still. You'll only hurt yourself. Athos and Porthos are here and we'll be free soon. Please, stop." d'Artagnan doubted that his friend comprehended the words he'd spoken, but the pleading in his tone seemed to have broken through the fog that was clouding the man's mind. As he stilled, the Gascon breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness. Aramis, can you look at me? How are you feeling?"
Aramis' eyes slid sideways to meet the boy's gaze but there was no recognition in his look. After staring at the young man for several moments, his eyes slid closed again and d'Artagnan could tell that he was no longer awake. He pulled his attention away from the man lying behind him and turned to face forward, meeting the expectant expressions of his other two comrades. "He's asleep again," he said. Neither man pressed for more, understanding that there was likely little else to add. As they returned to their discussion, d'Artagnan returned to his task of freeing his uninjured arm.
Unknown to him, Athos and Porthos had long since finished their strategizing and were now discussing their two injured friends. "Any more damage to that arm, ya think?" Porthos questioned, carefully avoiding the boy's gaze.
"With any luck, the splint did its job and protected it. It's highly doubtful that he would be as coherent as he is if the bones had shifted again."
The larger man's gaze travelled to Aramis, lying still in the bed across the room, and Athos read the longing in his friend's eyes to be there as well. "It is not ideal, but others have suffered multiple head wounds in the past and have recovered. If anyone will do so, Aramis will."
"Yeah," Porthos agreed fondly, "he just likes to worry us, is all." He tried to feel optimistic, but his face gave away how deeply troubled he was by his friend's condition.
"Once we get them out of here, they'll both be properly cared for at the Comte's chateau," Athos reminded him.
"Think they'll go for it?" Porthos asked.
Athos shrugged, "They have little choice and I am confident of our abilities to be especially persuasive today."
Porthos smiled slightly at his words, recognizing his friend's attempt to assuage his worry. Seeing the pensive look on Athos' face, he said, "That'll finally give the two of you time to clear the air."
Athos' face turned dark at the reminder that things were not well between himself and the boy, and the only way that would change would be for him to confess what had been troubling him over the past weeks. Correctly interpreting the dismay on his friend's face at the thought of the conversation awaiting him, Porthos continued, "He has a big heart and he loves you more than anything. There's no doubt he'll forgive your stupidity," he grinned.
"I thank you for always being honest in your assessment of my behaviour," Athos retorted wryly, "but my recent actions may be somewhat more difficult to forgive, given how far things seem to have progressed."
"Ay, I've no doubt that you've made it harder on yourself by waiting," the larger man teased, then softening before he finished, "but I have no doubt that you'll make things right. You're a good and honorable man Athos, and no one knows that better than d'Artagnan. He doesn't follow you blindly; he understands your failings and accepts you despite them, just as we all do."
"Thank you," Athos whispered, lowering his head as he absorbed his friend's words.
They were saved from further discussion by Faulcon's reappearance, Daumont trailing behind him, moving to stand next to the Gascon once they'd entered the room. The tall man looked expectantly at the two Musketeers, d'Artagnan watching as well since he had no part in their planning.
"Have you a wagon at your disposal?" Athos queried.
Faulcon looked at him questioningly, suggesting "It's likely we can borrow one from our hosts."
Athos tipped his head in agreement. "Then I recommend that we do so and move my two injured comrades into it and prepare to travel to the Comte's chateau." At the bandit's raised eyebrow, Athos questioned, "How is your knowledge of Greek mythology?"