A/N: Thank you for continuing to read and review this story. I appreciate the suggestions and hearing what you like to read. Plenty of angst coming up, but for now we need a plan! My constant gratitude to Issai for her beta-reading skills and keeping me honest and true. My mistakes still get the better of me.
Treville entered without knocking, rolls of parchment tucked under his arm and a bottle of brandy in his hand. He latched the door behind him, then gestured with a little wave for Athos to clear the food out of the way. Treville deposited the parchments on the small table and turned to retrieve the goblets perched on the edge of Aramis's mantle. He handed one to Flea, seated on a stool by the fire, and gave her a generous pour. Then he lined up the other cups on the table and poured the rest for each of them, taking the moment to observe his men.
They were tired. He could see the expression of it in the set of their bodies and the darkness around their eyes. They were worried. Aramis was unconsciously fiddling with the gold cross around his neck. Athos drumming a steady beat lightly on the tabletop with his fingers. They were angry. Aramis's eyes were black like cherry pits, gleaming as a steel blade etched in the candle light. Athos's jaw was clenched, his shoulders rigid with barely contained fury. D'Artagnan was sitting up, face set with a look of angry determination. It was hard to tell how much of that was his mind schooling his wounded body to obey or worry and fear about his missing friend.
"How are you?" Treville asked D'Artagnan as he passed him a cup.
"I'm fine," he said, slightly overemphasizing the word. In an effort to sound strong, D'Artagnan came off as cocky.
"Someday I'm going to ask one of you that question and I'm not going to get a horse shit answer" Treville spat back. D'Artagnan started to protest but Treville shot him his best withering glare and the young recruit clamped his mouth shut. Treville rifled through the scrolls on the table and picked up one with a red ribbon bearing Richelieu's seal. He handed it to Athos who slipped off the ribbon and opened the paper.
"Those are orders from five years ago," Treville explained, "regarding an uprising of Merchants against the King after a dispute over import tariffs. The Red Guard had been sent to the harbor to enforce the tariff and protests and fighting broke out. They really made a mess of it," Treville paused to sip his brandy, "What is unusual is that the Cardinal asked that the Musketeers, not the Red Guard, be sent to round up the nobles behind the uprising. Both regiments were relatively new at the time, but already there was competition and animosity between them. But apparently, the Cardinal specifically wanted Musketeers for this. Musketeers deemed discreet and who would handle things quickly and quietly so as not to bring further unrest that might jeopardize the rule of a young King."
Treville paused and selected another scroll, passing that to Athos, who had handed the first set of orders to Aramis and D'Artagnan. "This one is my order, selecting five of my best men to track down the nobles.
Athos raised a brow, "I see Aramis and I did not make your list," and he gave Treville an icy stare.
Treville rolled his eyes. "Because at the time Athos, the regiment was spread extremely thin. We had just lost a full company at Savoy. You," his glace fell to Aramis, "were still recovering from your injuries," Aramis hung his head at Treville's words, but he continued on, "And you," Treville's stern gaze returned to Athos, "were with a company in Languedoc chasing down allies of Gaston." He paused and Athos gave him a small, contrite nod, which Treville took as an apology for him questioning his judgment. "I didn't want to send Porthos or anyone else for that matter," Treville went on more softly, "but the King and Cardinal insisted. The Red Guards were not to be involved."
Aramis was reading the second parchment, D'Artagnan looking over his shoulder, "Porthos was sent to arrest Varade," he said, "This confirms it."
"And this," Athos said, picking up another parchment, "is his report. He found Varade at his estate, secured inside with a loaded pistol. Negotiations proved . . . unhelpful," Athos chose the word carefully, "He opened fire and Porthos was shot in the arm. Varade came out then to face him with a sword," Athos glanced up and smiled coldly at his companions, "Wounded, Porthos beat him anyway. Varade was humiliated. Porthos threw him over his saddle and rode him back to Paris like a sack of potatoes. He was locked up in the Chatelet and should not have seen the light of day again."
"Should not have," Aramis caught Athos's word, "but he did?" Treville did not like the dangerous shift in tone he heard in Aramis's voice. Treville picked up another parchment, this one tied with a green ribbon. He unfurled and handed it to Aramis, knowing the man was not going to be pleased with what he heard next.
"These are court records from six months later, outlining the disposition of prisoners to the Chatelet and the Bastille and transport orders for prisoners to other locations. Look at the third section." Aramis scanned down as Treville continued, "Varade's sentence is commuted to ten years indentured servitude and he is transported back to Saint-Pierre under Richelieu's direct supervision."
"Saint-Pierre," Aramis said his jaw tight, "the same island where he was already an established merchant."
"That is not much of a punishment," D'Artagnan added.
"It gets worse," Athos said dryly, "Richelieu pardoned Varade on the condition that he never step foot back in France again, and, that he enter into an exclusive trading partnership with him. Sound a bit familiar?"
"Bonnaire," Aramis breathed, "Just the same. No care for what that man did. The Cardinal only sees the profit in it for himself," Aramis flung the parchment to the table in disgust.
"But why attack Porthos now?" D'Artagnan asked
"It makes little sense," Aramis agreed, "The house we saw is more than well-appointed. Clearly this partnership has been extremely lucrative for him, even on terms favorable to the Cardinal."
"He is still an exile," Athos shrugged, "Only able to send his riches back to a wife and children he will never see. He may be living in a chateau on Saint-Pierre, but he will never leave it. It is hot and rough there, too rough to send for his wife and family and very far from the comfortable life of a French Comte. He must be angry still."
"Yet if he is not on French soil, how did he orchestrate this? How is it even possible?" D'Artagnan asked incredulously.
Aramis's eyes grew dark, "He has a family. A family that hates musketeers."
"The wife is not capable," Athos said, pouring himself more brandy and passing the bottle to Treville, "but he has children."
Aramis nodded his head in agreement, remembering his conversation with the girl at the estate, and with the stable boy, "The servants said the older children were off visiting a relation in Normandie, but the youngest daughter said they were conducting very important business. Everything that girl said is turning out to be true. I don't think she was lying about this."
"So where does that leave us though?" D'Artagnan burst out, anger and worry marring his young face, "We have no idea where he is, what they have done to him, and why they haven't just killed him. Or maybe they have and we just haven't found his body yet! We have nothing but guesses here!" he shouted, flinging his arms in frustration. He reacted badly to the movement, calling out in pain and curling forward with the agony he had sparked in his rib cage. Aramis caught the boy immediately, one arm over his shoulders and the other hand suddenly clenched in D'Artagnan's white-knuckled grip. Flea rose and moved beside the boy, threading her fingers in his hair and trying to soothe him. Treville watched as Aramis quieted his companion, telling him to breathe through the pain, seemingly oblivious to what must be D'Artagnan's painful grasp on his hand. Treville glanced at Athos as they waited for D'Artagnan to catch his breath. The man was sitting forward in his chair, ready to move should he be needed, but the look on his face was soft, a gaze of utter trust directed toward the marksman tending his young protégé. Treville marveled at them still, this complete and unbreakable bond that transcended any soldiering relationships he himself had ever had. The addition of D'Artagnan had surprised him, but it seemed that once Athos had chosen to take the boy under his wing, the other two had simply closed ranks in support. If Athos said he was brother, then he was. The absence of Porthos was a ragged hole amongst them. One that Treville doubted their bond could survive if it became permanent.
D'Artagnan's breathing began to even out and he finally released his grip on Aramis's hand. The young recruit straightened his shoulders slightly and gently maneuvered himself with Flea's assistance to a more upright sitting position. He raised his face and Treville could see tears still filling his eyes, but from pain of the body or the heart he did not know. D'Artagnan's anguished eyes spoke volumes for the rest of them, all too seasoned as soldiers to let their emotions escape so readily.
"I'm sorry," D'Artagnan mumbled.
Treville sighed through his nose and moved to refill D'Artagnan's cup. "Not the first such outburst today," he said cryptically, arching an eyebrow at Athos.
Athos for his part adopted a wide, innocent stare, "I'm sure my time in your office this evening was nothing but pleasant," he said cordially.
Treville gave a small snort. These men were impossible. And he loved them each like sons. Treville took up the last parchment, this one longer, and unrolled it on top of the others littering the table. It was a map of Normandie, every road, village, town and city carefully marked as were abbeys, workhouses, and schools. Treville had a reputation for having some of the finest and most painstakingly detailed maps in all of Paris. Only the King's cartographers themselves rivaled his collection. Aramis and Flea helped D'Artagnan to his feet so that they could all examine the map.
"When I was speaking with Madame de Varade, she said that her son managed the winery and her daughter their imports and exports," Athos said, "So the Captain did some research and while the vineyard is north of Paris, the winery is a large operation on the coast, in Deauville," and Athos placed a finger at the spot. "I think this is the place where they would take him. They have that property in their control, presumably their men there are loyal, and they are close enough to Le Havre to have hired mercenaries from the port there who we could not easily identify in Paris."
"Why take him though?" D'Artagnan asked quietly, "Why not just kill him if that's what they wanted." His young voice was laced with despair.
"Because they don't seek Porthos's death," Athos answered in a low voice, "they seek revenge. They want to inflict a pain on Porthos equal to the pain they have felt. Most people seeking vengeance believe that making someone suffer as they have will somehow erase their hurts. I can assure you," Athos added darkly, "that that is not true," Athos paused, and tapped his finger on the map, "There is no better spot for them than that winery."
Treville looked at Aramis, wondering if his belief in Athos was strong enough in this moment to agree to follow this slim lead. With all that they had deduced, they still had no hard evidence that Porthos had been taken to Deauville. All they had was Athos's instincts. The marksman's face was unreadable as his deep brown eyes stared down at the map as if an answer would emerge if he just looked hard enough. He exhaled through his nose, pursed his lips and looked to Athos. He searched his friend's face for a moment, and then Treville was rewarded by Aramis's small nod. Athos nodded back in return, clapping a hand to Aramis's shoulder. D'Artagnan shifted closer, putting his arm across Aramis's back and resting his hand on top of Athos's. It was decided.
Treville took in the men standing before him. Strong, determined, united. The fact that their fourth was not there to complete their circle weighed heavily on the Captain's heart. "I'll get you provisioned," Treville said, a slight rasp in his voice the only betrayal of his deep emotions, "You leave at first light," as he turned to leave, Athos stopped him with a hand to his arm.
"Captain," the musketeer said, his deep blue eyes holding an ocean of unreadable feelings, "Thank you," and he saw Athos swallow hard as if trying to keep all of those feelings at bay. Treville offered him a fatherly smile and a slight pat on the hand that held his arm. It's all he really trusted himself to do.
"Get some rest," he admonished them, then left their room, letting the door latch quietly behind him. It would be a dark night for all of them but at least those three could wait it out together.
"I have to go," Flea let go of D'Artagnan's arm and moved toward the door, "I am going to find that little runt Jehan and find out who he let into our midst."
"It's late, Madame," Aramis appealed to her, "If you could wait . . ."
"Wait?" she leaned across the table from the tall musketeer and peered furiously up at him, "You expect me to wait here when I have a traitor in my house who might have a clue to Porthos's whereabouts," Flea stared defiantly up at him, "Don't you dare expect me to sit meekly by the fire and watch you men take care of everything. You haven't done such a good job of it yet, have you?" Her words were sharp and Aramis felt the sting. He hooked a chair with his leg and helped D'Artagnan to sit, then looked again at Flea with a softened gaze.
"I was only going to ask if you would wait long enough for us to arrange an escort," Aramis offered.
"Do I really look like I need one," Flea huffed, but he saw the tension start to release from her body. "I live in the streets, remember?" she added.
"Yes, you do, I am aware," Aramis said quietly as he made his way around the table to stand in front of her, "and so you are also aware of what can happen in Paris at night," He took her gently by the shoulders and peered at her with a soft gaze, "Porthos would never forgive me if anything happened to you and it was in my power to have prevented it." That statement seemed to catch her up short, and she let out a long sigh. "Additionally," Aramis pressed his advantage, "an escort can return swiftly should you have news." Aramis watched her process his logic, and with another small sigh, she acquiesced.
"Thank you, Madame, for all you have done here today," Athos said gently as his gaze flicked briefly toward D'Artagnan, "We are in your debt for your assistance, and for the love you bear our brother," and he gave her a small bow. Aramis raised an eye at Athos's heartfelt words. It was not like him to be that expressive to anyone, even amongst their own group. It was a testament to the tension and worry he must be feeling.
Flea nodded and gathered her shawl around her, looking a little uncomfortable at all the gallantry and noble talk suddenly focused on her. She gave them both a thin smile and made her way to leave.
Athos put a hand to her arm to stop her, "Treville is below," he said, "He will arrange for an escort. Please be careful." Flea gave him a bemused look and gave a little tilt of her head, a slight mimic of the bow Athos had offered her. Athos released her arm and she departed down the stairs.