AN –So I have pretty much finished writing this, so I should be able to get it all posted before I have to go back to work after the Easter holidays and I got a bit inspired so there will be about 15 chapters I think. Hope you continue to enjoy.
It took a few days to put everything in place. First of all, d'Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos waited down in the courtyard as Athos went to speak with Treville about their plan.
"I should be up there," d'Artagnan jumped up from where he had been sitting impatiently on the steps.
"Let Athos handle it," Aramis caught his arm, holding him in place. "He really is quite good at this sort of thing."
"And Treville loves him," Porthos added sagely. "He's been itching for a way to get back at Garnon for cheating like he did."
"I thought you said he didn't know about the duel?" d'Artagnan frowned.
"We said we had to keep it from him," Porthos tipped his head. "Not the same thing."
"Remind me to show you the difference between an entry wound and where the blade comes out. The scars are quite different," Aramis fixed him with a look. "Treville has always known somebody stabbed Athos in the back and even in error Porthos would never do such a thing."
Their patience was finally rewarded when Athos came down the stairs, his usually stoic expression replaced with a faint air of bemusement. As d'Artagnan jumped up, a look of anxiety painted across his features, Aramis and Porthos exchanged a knowing look, it was long past time that their Lieutenant recognised just how high he stood in Treville's favour.
"He wants to see you," Athos put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Don't concern yourself. I rather think he wants to congratulate you."
And so it turned out.
"Your method was flawed but I cannot fault your loyalty," Treville spoke conversationally, as he wondered over to his cupboard and poured two glasses of his very best brandy, returning to offer one to d'Artagnan before raising his glass in a toast, a smile on his lips "I cannot be seen to condone brawling in the ranks, but don't be surprised if the entire the regiment wishes to stand you a drink."
"Er, thank you?" d'Artagnan managed.
"Garnon will stop at nothing until he sees Athos destroyed, I have no intention of letting that happen," Treville advised him. "Any plan which can dispose of a coward like him and leave Athos in the regiment has my full support."
After that things moved swiftly. Porthos and Aramis and a few trusted comrades took turns sparring with Garnon under the guise of practice to learn every one of his tricks. D'Artagnan used the time to practice with Athos and recover his full strength. To no one's surprise Athos spent more time in his company than he did at the tavern, chiding him to eat more, reading to him from a selection of novels, and even tutoring him a little in those parts of education expected of a son of the nobility but denied to a simple Gascon farm boy.
As they expected Garnon's overblown pride could not resist the wager. The day dawned crisp and bright. As his friends helped him make ready d'Artagnon looked at each of them in turn.
"Give 'im hell." Porthos gripped his arm tightly.
"Try not to let him leave any scuffs on your new doublet." Aramis patted his shoulder.
"Remember, head not heart," Athos held his gaze. "And do try not to kill him. I am rather looking forward to doing that myself."
He held out his hand, palm down, and d'Artagnan's heart leap into his throat as he realised what was intended. Looking around at the face of his friends, he swallowed hard as he saw nothing but love and support. Slightly shyly, at this first time of doing this, he covered Athos' hand with his own, feeling a surge of belonging as Aramis was swift to add his hand to the pile and Porthos completed the circle.
"One for all." Athos intoned.
"And all for one." They all chorused.
The four of them walked out into the courtyard shoulder to shoulder, Aramis teasing d'Artagnan about the first outing for his new blue and tan leather doublet, Porthos whispering last minute advice in his ear under the guise of mussing the younger man's hair, Athos, a strong, steady presence by his side that served to ground and focus d'Artagnan even as Garnon took up his position.
"Gentlemen," Treville looked between the two would be combatants. "I charge you both to remember that you are King's musketeers. This contest is solely for the honour of his Majesty. First blood settles the matter."
"Remember," Athos caught d'Artagnan's arm as he moved forward. "It's just practice."
"Of course," d'Artagnan nodded.
Athos cuffed the boy fondly. He had learnt the hard that look of wide eyed innocence was never to be taken at face value and usually meant trouble. But he dropped his hand allowing him to step forward, and trusting him to do his part. Even so, he watched Garnon carefully as d'Artagnan moved to face him.
From the first the fight was fast and furious. The plan was for d'Artagnan to defeat Garnon in full view of the regiment. Athos was confident that d'Artagnan would come to no actual harm with Treville watching every lunge and parry like a hawk, but with Garnon publically outclassed by the regiment's newest recruit he would have no choice but to honour the wager and resign his commission. And as soon as that pauldron was removed from Garnon's shoulder Athos was determined to see justice done.
D'Artagnan had always been a talented swordsman but under Athos' careful tuition he had flourished. Treville began to look increasingly satisfied as it became clear that Garnon was losing. Aramis and Porthos exchanged a gleeful look as they both started to think that the plan might just work. Athos watched full of pride as d'Artagnan fought with the same kind of judgement and skill that had led to him defeating LaBarge.
And then the unthinkable happened.
Garnon brought his blade down heavily. D'Artagnan twisted underneath it to block the move, gritting his teeth as the full force of the impact travelled all the way down his arm. All at once the assembled musketeers ceased their calls and encouragements to fall into a shocked silence even as d'Artagnan vaguely registered that the reassuring weight of his sword in his hand suddenly felt ridiculously light and the balance was all awry.
Looking down he realised he held only the stump of a sword, the tip of the blade having been sheared off by the force of Garnon's last blow to land forlornly in the mud a few feet away. For a split second d'Artagnan could only stare open mouthed at the ruined remains of his weapon. His mind flashing to the moment when his father had proudly presented it to him and its loss sliced through him as sharply as if Garnon had actually run him through.
"Hold!" Treville roared.
D'Artagnan swiftly glanced up at the Captain's warning shout, only to see Garnon had not halted his advance in the slightest and was still bearing down on him in deadly earnest. Dropping his useless sword pommel he swiftly reached for the main gauche in the small of his back, knowing even as he did that that he would be too late to block the blade already descending towards him with lethal intent. D'Artagnan closed his eyes against a wash of pain. Treville would be diminished by the loss of another man under his command. Porthos would shed a tear for their friendship, closer than blood. Aramis would offer kind words to console his mother and sisters even as his own heart was breaking.
And Athos would find a way to blame himself for the loss of another brother.
"He said hold!"
The clash of two blades came together so solidly that sparks flared up into the air. Mere inches from d'Artagnan's face Garnon's features twisted in an expression of complete rage. D'Artagnan blinked at the strip of metal right in front of his nose as he recognised the blade of Athos' sword protecting him from further onslaught.
Frustrated in his objective Garnon instantly schooled his features into an insincere expression of polite regret.
"My apologies, I was perhaps a little overzealous."
"He could have been hurt." Porthos spat.
"I could not have known his sword would shatter," Garnon dismissed the concern. "Although, I suppose some pig sticker of a blade is the best a Gascon farm boy can afford."
"That's enough!" Treville's voice cracked like a whip. "Garnon, whilst you remain in this regiment you will follow my orders, my office now!"
Garnon continued to glower at d'Artagnan and for a moment it looked like he might defy Treville in front of the entire regiment for a second time. However, perhaps remembering that Treville was higher in the King's favour that his father, on whom all his continued well-being relied, he reluctantly sloped off.
"Are you alright?" Aramis put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, feeling his worry rise as he felt the slight trembling under his hand. He swiftly steered the younger man over to one side and sat him down at the table. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," d'Artagnan assured him, his distraught expression saying anything but. "There's not a scratch on me."
"You want to try that again?" Porthos rolled his eyes, even as he produced a bottle of wine from thin air and poured out four glasses. "Because you look like your dog died."
"Is he hurt?"
Athos appeared, his voice so rich with concern that d'Artagnan felt all his defences crumbling. How had this man come to mean so much to him in so short a time?
"He's not injured," Aramis reassured swiftly. "Just a little heart sick."
"That sword was a present from my father for my twenty first birthday," d'Artagnan managed feeling quite stunned as the enormity of its lost refused to sink in. "It cost far more than he could really afford at the time, with the farm doing so badly, but he was determined I should have a sword fit for a gentleman. I am only sorry it failed you all."
That I failed you.
D'Artagnan hated the fact that his father had scrimped and saved to give him a sword he could be proud of it and yet it still couldn't begin to match the quality the Comte de Lyon could purchase for his son. He knew better than to think the blade could be mended. There would always be a weakness in the join and the risk that it would not hold when his, or worst his friends, lives depended on his skill, would be simply too great.
"That sword saw your way to securing a commission as a King's musketeer," Aramis reminded him kindly. "That is an honourable enough epitaph for any blade."
"D'Artagnan," Treville appeared. "Take your choice of any sword in the armoury. It's yours for as long as you need."
"Thank you, sir." d'Artagnan nodded.
It was a generous offer. A quality sword was a hugely costly expense and it would be some time before d'Artagnan could afford to purchase another for himself on his stipend.
"We could have a little word with Garnon?" Porthos suggested a predatory glint in his eye. "Persuade him to chip in for a new sword?"
"Much as I would like to see you try that," d'Artagnan glanced fondly at his friend. He had watched Porthos and Aramis idea of "persuading" others with awe and admiration. "I would rather not be beholden to that man in any way."
"C'mon then," Porthos clapped him on the back. "You look like you need a drink."
"Only if you're paying," d'Artagnon smiled. "I have a new sword to save up for, remember?"
In the end it was Aramis who paid, choosing the better red wine and the best beef stew with that day's fresh bread and plenty of all of it.
"How come we're celebrating?" Porthos was the first to raise it. "Garnon's still a musketeer. And with the Comte to hide behind even disobeying Treville won't get 'im more than a slap on the wrist."
"Which is why I refuse to sour my stomach any further, with bad wine and stale bread," Aramis reasoned. "And at least his disobedience might give Treville excuse enough to send him out of our sight."
"Or perhaps his father will finally decide he's not right for soldiering and marry him off to some rich eighty year old widow," Porthos joked, raising his glass in a toast. "May the lady make his life a living hell."
"There is another way." Athos reminded them both.
"Over my dead body." Porthos vowed at once.
"This has gone on long enough," Athos argued. "It's time to end it."
"What?" d'Artagnan wondered.
"Athos thinks that if he falls on his sword, so to speak, and resigns his commission then he will be free to challenge Garnon," Aramis clarified. "Given the lengths Porthos and I went to four years ago to prevent him doing exactly that I cannot imagine why he thinks we would allow it now."
"One time Aramis punched him and another time I drugged his wine," Porthos grinned.
"You punched him?" d'Artagnan grinned at Aramis.
"We tried not to be too predictable. He can be quite perceptive when he is not being a stubborn fool." Aramis tipped his hat at Athos. "Thankfully, when he awoke he took it for the sign of affection it was intended to be."
"Even Treville got in on the act," Porthos crowed. "Every time Athos tried to see him he was somehow unavailable, until he finally got the message we weren't about to let 'im go."
"Do you truly believe Garnon will just let this lie?" Athos remarked.
"Hey, I thought you said we were all in this together?" d'Artagnan gave him a lop sided smile.
"And you chose now to start listening to me?" Athos gave a long suffering sigh.
"Monsieurs? My father asked me to bring this."
A boy of about twelve who d'Artagnan recognised as Jean-Paul, the son of the garrison's farrier appeared at their table carrying a bulky package wrapped in sackcloth. Porthos, who seemed to be expecting the lad gave him a handful of coins in return for the package.
"Maybe you can't fight with it," Porthos spoke kindly as he passed the bundle over to d'Artagnan. "But I know what it's like to lose stuff when you don't have that much. It can be something to remember your father by."
D'Artagnan held his breath as he carefully unwrapped the rough sacking to reveal his old sword. You could see the join where the two pieces had been carefully fused together. But he had already lost so much at the hands of La Barge and had so little else of his father's now the farm was gone that this meant the world to him.. That his friend would go to such trouble and expense on his behalf left him lost for words.
"Thank you." He smiled. "I'll treasure it always."
Warmed by good wine, rich food and the best of company, to his later shame, d'Artagnan put Garnon firmly out of his mind. The following morning he was further cheered by Treville's announcement that Garnon had agreed to return home to Lyon for a time whilst he considered his future.
"According to court gossip, the Comte de Lyon has been making enquiries in his circle to marry off his youngest son, if a match can be found, given a suitable dowry, of course." Treville allowed.
"So Porthos is become a prophet," Aramis smirked. "I suppose a man can never have too much wealth or too many descendants."
It took the arrival of the Comte de Lyon in Paris to forcibly remind d'Artagnan of Athos' warning that Garnon would not simply let this lie.
"What's going on?" d'Artagnan muttered to Aramis, as the regiment were ordered to muster just before supper.
"Nothing good." Aramis looked troubled.
Treville came down the stairs from his office, followed by a man in court robes. He looked unusually tired and drawn.
"A signet ring which the musketeer Francois Garnon carried it to Paris to present to the King as a token of his father, the Comte de Lyon's, loyalty is missing. At the Comte's insistence I have agreed that his men may search the garrison. I am confident that the regiment has nothing to hide."
"That bloody ring again." Porthos seethed under his breath.
"Quite." Athos' tone was deadly.
"This means trouble." Aramis surmised.
"A ring's a small thing, light, easy to transport," Porthos murmured. "Exactly the sort of thing you could plant on someone if you wanted to blacken their name. No-one would ever know it was there unless they were looking for it."
"The only question is which one of us will be the guilty party this time." Aramis agreed.