Athos had never felt so helpless. As often in his life that he would have charge of a situation, both as his father's son, then as the comte, and now as Treville's lieutenant, yet there was literally nothing more that he could do to make their brother well.
His guilt was still eating him alive. My fault, my fault, his mind screamed at him. I had to act so self-righteously, and now my beloved brother is paying the price.
He remembered the morning after he and Aramis' argument. At muster, Treville asking where Aramis was. No one had any idea, including himself. All he could say was that Aramis had walked out of the garrison late last evening after an argument, and he hadn't come back by the time he had retired.
Treville's eyebrows had shot up when Athos had mentioned that. He knew that the four friends were so close-knit that serious disagreements rarely happened, so he had later asked in private if he would care to tell him what the argument had been about. There was no way Athos could discuss that subject with another living soul, so he had just shaken his head, saying it hadn't been that important. Not important! It had been the catalyst to send his brother into the night, distracted to the point that he hadn't seen an attack coming.
By evening, Treville and Aramis' brothers were deeply concerned, verging on panic. This was totally unlike their brother. He may have evenings with his lady friends sometimes, but he never stayed out the whole night, nor did he miss muster in the morning or not send word if he had an emergency that would keep him away from the garrison for very long.
By next morning, Treville was assigning the men to various areas of the city to track down what might have happened, and to try to find witnesses that may have seen anything untoward happen. But no one had seen anything.
He kept sending the men out, hoping against hope that something would turn up. But what did happen drove Treville and his brothers to the edge.
Two mornings after they had begun canvassing the city, a package was left at the gates. It must have been left late at night, as no one had seen anyone other than a Musketeer come or go all day or during the evening.
The package was brought to Treville's office. When he saw that it had Aramis' name on it, he sent the Musketeer who had brought it to him to find Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan as quickly as possible.
They had been readying themselves to go out again searching when they were told to report to Treville's office. Practically running in their excitement that maybe the Captain had discovered information, they barely knocked in their haste to enter.
But when they saw the look on Treville's face, they feared the worst. Shaken, they gathered around his desk, needing him to speak but dreading what he would say.
Realizing that delay would make the situation even worse, Treville pointed to the small box on his desk and said to Athos, "This was found at the gates this morning," indicating he should open it.
From the look in Treville's eyes, Athos knew he didn't want to see whatever was in the box. He slowly picked it up, then taking a deep breath, opened it. He gasped in shock and horror at what was revealed, silently turning the box so Porthos and d'Artagnan could see what he was looking at.
Two bloody fingernails were all that were in the box, and a note saying, "It has begun."
Everyone in the room was speechless with shock for a few moments. Then, Porthos growled, saying, "We gotta find him quick. These men are animals."
Athos spoke next, saying, "We have combed the streets, shops, anywhere that we know of that Aramis goes to, and no one has seen anything."
Athos was silent for a moment, then slowly reached out to pick up the box again. Staring at it for a few moments, he then said, " Look at the carved pattern in the wood."
They all studied it before d'Artagnan said, " I wonder who carves such intricate designs in wood. It indicates a skilled craftsman."
Athos nodded in agreement. "There are not that many with a skill like that in Paris. We need to go back to the shops we visited and try again. Someone has to have seen something."
But Athos hung his head, remembering how they tried and tried, and came up with nothing. A few days after the first small box arrived, another one, somewhat larger, was deposited in exactly the same place. The same design was on the box.
Remembering the first 'delivery', no one was eager to open this box, so Treville did so. Aramis' shirt was lying on the bottom, dirty and blood-stained. No one knew what to say, their faces showing the pain they were in over the whole situation.
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Athos continued to sit quietly beside the bed, never letting go of his brother's hand. Softly moving his hand in a circular motion as he saw Aramis begin to get a little restless, he hoped the movement might calm him down before it got any worse. It seemed to work, and he let out a little sigh of relief.
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After the shirt was delivered, there were no more deliveries, no more clues found to assist them in finding their brother. They were left with silence: from the kidnappers, from lack of witnesses; from lack of clues. They were left with only their thoughts and prayers.
They continued combing the city, but it was fruitless. There seemed to be nothing to be found-anywhere.
To a man, they had never been so frustrated in their lives. They knew time was of the essence, and every day that passed was causing them to panic a little more. What were these kidnappers doing to Aramis who was helpless in their hands? Their feet dragged more, their heads hung down, their appetites nearly dwindled to nothing.
Athos, who everyone knew liked to spend many evenings at the local taverns, had not been to one since Aramis had disappeared. Constance spent much time trying to bring any sort of cheer she could find to d'Artagnan, but it brought no smile to his face. Porthos, when they weren't out hunting for clues, spent much of his time in the gun room, cleaning the pistols and muskets that Aramis usually enjoyed doing, so that when he was back, they would be shiny and clean for him.
A Musketeer named Emile, a cocky young man who usually acted like he knew everything, seemed to be particularly affected by the somber atmosphere, not just with the Inseparables, but throughout the entire garrison. Aramis was popular among the Musketeers, always a joke or a helping hand, a smile ready on his face. He had offered several weeks ago to assist the young Musketeer in improving his aim with a musket.
Now, he had knocked on the Captain's door to ask if there was anything he could do to help. Treville was somewhat surprised. He had been keeping an eye on the young man, not knowing any more if he was Musketeer material. He had found out, quite by accident, that the young man had another interest entirely when he was off-duty.
One of the Musketeers, an older seasoned veteran, had felt it his duty to come and divulge what he had seen in a tavern the night before. Emile had been coming on to a young bar maid who was trying desperately to just do her job, having no interest in him at all. Emile had grabbed her and slapped her hard in the face. She had obviously had enough of his attentions, and she returned the slap. He stood there stunned at her action. He didn't come near her the rest of the time he was there.
But as an older Musketeer left that night, he heard a scuffle between the tavern wall and the next building. Rounding the corner, he was shocked to see Emile forcing his attentions on the young woman. Emile, for his part, looked up and frowned, obviously upset at being interrupted, and took off leaving her leaning against the wall in the alleyway.
Treville was disgusted by what he had heard, and resolved to keep an eye on the young man. He decided one more incident and he would take the young man's commission away.
When Emile came to him smiling and asking what he could do to help, Treville thought about it and sent him to Porthos to assist in cleaning the guns. He had told Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan about the incident. Porthos would keep an eye on him.
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A day later, Athos' shift had been the last one of the night and it was barely dawn when a knock sounded on the door. Surprised, he opened it, finding Serge standing there with a covered bowl in his hand.
"I made 'im somethin' special, I did," the Musketeer cook said, handing the bowl to Athos. By this time, Porthos and d'Artagnan were standing behind him, curious as to what Serge had brought. Uncovering the bowl, they all smiled at the apple tart, still warm from the oven, that was revealed. It was one of Aramis' very favorite desserts, and Serge had obviously been up a long time before dawn to prepare it for him. Everyone knew Aramis was his favorite, and he had wanted to do something special for him.
At first, they had wondered why Serge wasn't asking them how Aramis was progressing. Then, they realized he was probably pigeon-holing everyone who came to him for meals to find out how Aramis was doing.
He turned to go back to the kitchen, saying, "You tell 'im old Serge wants 'im to get well real quick."
They closed the door, and headed back to the bed. They could see that Aramis was a little restless, and hoped he was going to wake up while the tart was still warm.
Sure enough, a few moments later, his eyes opened to find three pairs of smiling eyes looking at him.
"Look what Serge made for you," they said almost in unison. When he saw the tart, Aramis' mouth quirked up into a little smile, which did all their hearts good. He finished the whole thing, too, just a bit of the warmed-up soup with his meds in it, and some more water when it was given to him. Then, he was out like a light once again. They knew he was not out of the woods yet, but it had done their hearts so much good to see that smile.