Author's Note: I will not be writing this weekend due to the Easter holiday, so I gave you an extra long chapter to mull over. This chapter includes a good dose of our favorite Papa Tréville, who doesn't get enough attention in our fandom. Things have gone from bad to worse - and it appears a certain two might be in trouble... sorry for the cliffie, but I couldn't help myself! Thank you to Mountain Cat for finding my mistakes.
I want to wish all of you a lovely and Blessed Easter. He is Risen!
TRÉVILLE'S GUARDIAN ANGEL
Parlor, Château de Montois:
"Move that candle a little closer, Javon," Aramis instructed, as he squinted to see in the dim light.
"I think I'm going to be sick!" Javon said, turning his head as he coughed, nearly gagging.
"Listen, pull yourself together, dammit!" Aramis snapped, out of patience. "If you cannot handle being my assistant, I'll replace you with someone else who can."
"Javon, why don't you go stand watch for a while," Captain Tréville ordered, motioning with his head toward the door. "What do you need, Aramis?" he asked, setting the bottles of Cognac by the fireplace.
Aramis let out a sigh, relieved to have his trusted captain at his side. "If you could move that candle in closer, I need to make sure he has no internal damage."
"How bad is it?" Tréville asked, bracing himself for grim news. "Be honest with me."
Aramis looked up, hearing the worry in his captain's voice. "Despite the circumstances," he snorted, glancing around the room, "he's extremely lucky—though I know luck had nothing to do with this."
"What do you mean?" Captain Tréville asked, peering around the medic to get a better look.
"The storm worked incredibly in d'Artagnan's favor, if you can believe it," Aramis huffed incredulously at their good fortune. "The darkness was disorienting enough, but the lightning flash temporarily blinded DuBois, causing his aim to be off."
"He could have killed any one of us," Tréville said, nodding with understanding.
"That's right, if he had been able to see," Aramis took a shaking breath, "he could have shot d'Artagnan—or even you—square in the chest, killing either of you instantly. Instead, DuBois shot too far to the right, hitting him here in the side," the medic said, pointing to the entrance and exit wounds. "It was a clean shot, through-and-through."
"I never thought I'd be so grateful for lightning," Tréville murmured.
"Me neither," Aramis concurred in a whisper. "If the ball had hit further left or higher up, there would have been nothing I could have done to save him—not out here, and not with these," the medic scoffed, holding up the cutting shears and blade.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say someone was looking out for our young Gascon," Tréville said, gently patting the unconscious Musketeer on the leg. "What can you tell me about his condition?"
"Thankfully, the ball passed through his side, between his bottom rib and above his hip, without hitting bone; if the ball had hit his hipbone, it's likely it would have shattered—and then he'd be in serious trouble. All in all, he's very, very fortunate."
"Is there likely to be any internal damage?"
"Judging from the location of the wound, it's not deep enough to have hit the major organs, which is incredibly fortunate," the medic replied. "I'm going to cut a small incision, just enough to explore and make certain there is no internal damage. . ." his voice trailed as he sliced the blade across the skin.
"Where in the world did you learn to do this, Aramis?" the captain asked, watching with interest. "I knew you were adept, but this goes beyond a medic's skill."
"Doctor Laurent has allowed me to assist him in recent surgeries," Aramis admitted, smiling at the captain's surprise. "He said it might come in handy one day, given our line of work."
"If you ever decide to leave the Musketeers, you can always become a physician!" Lémieux chimed in.
"Not any time soon, I hope," Tréville said, catching Aramis' glance.
"Alright, let's get that Cognac," Aramis said, motioning his head toward the bottle. "Captain, go ahead and pour the brandy over these wounds and clean the area, then we'll get started."
Tréville poured the brandy liberally over d'Artagnan's side, catching the excess with a towel and using it to clean the skin. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"
"Not at this time," Aramis whispered, engrossing himself in his work. The medic guided the needle and thread, looping it around and through the skin, creating perfect sutures until the entrance wound was closed. "Now we do the same with the exit wound," he said, repeating the process over again.
"Well done, Aramis, this is fine stitch work," Captain Tréville complimented after examining the wounds. "Are you going to bandage him now?"
"No, we need a salve to put over these wounds to help prevent later infection," Aramis replied with some hesitation. "There is a perfect salve readily available, considering our current location, but. . ."
"Where can you get any salve in the middle of the forest?" Tréville asked, confused.
"Captain, we are surrounded by pine trees," Aramis broached cautiously. "If we can collect some resin, I can make an ointment; pine sap works wonders against infection."
"How do you know all this?"
"I read," Aramis huffed in reply, "what most consider boring reading material. However, the medical journals have a wealth of information; it's where I've learned most everything I know."
"Um, Aramis, you mentioned collecting pine resin," Fernier said, "which means someone has to go outside."
"I am not going outside!" Javon exclaimed resolutely. "That is suicide; DuBois is out there!"
"Surely, the ointment can wait," Lémieux chimed in.
"You are absolutely insane if you think any of us should risk going out there with that lunatic lurking about," Javon continued.
"Alright, that's enough!" Tréville shouted above the yelling. "Not one of you is in any position to argue," he rebuked the men. "I am the captain and I am in command here!"
"Captain, isn't the Cognac sufficient for now?" Lémieux asked, deliberately avoiding the medic's glare. "At least until daylight?"
"I wouldn't ask anyone to go outside if I wasn't willing to go out there myself," Aramis asserted, struggling to control his temper. "I know it's dangerous, but the risk of d'Artagnan contracting an infection is very real; and I cannot completely trust the Cognac, due to its age. The pine resin is a healing agent that I do trust and I must have it!"
"So why don't you go outside and collect that pine resin yourself then?" Javon retaliated angrily.
"Verday, Peseux!" Captain Tréville shouted to the men at the door. "Come in here, now!"
"Yes, Sir?" the men echoed, anxiously exchanging glances.
"You two will stay in here, guarding d'Artagnan," the captain ordered. "Do not let anyone in this room until we return; the rest of us are going outside to collect some pine resin."
"Captain, surely it doesn't take all of us. . ."
"I said we were all going!" Captain Tréville snapped, glaring at his insolent men. "I understand tensions are high after what happened here tonight, but I will not excuse such blatant disregard for my orders again, am I clear?"
"Yes, Sir!" the men echoed in compliance.
"Now, everyone is to take a candle so we have plenty of light," the captain began, "and I want each of you to make sure your pistols are loaded and ready."
"Captain, I'll go without a candle," Aramis insisted. "I need my hands free, except for my main gauche. I'm going to be busy cutting through the bark and harvesting the sap, so the rest of you have to watch my back."
"But what about your sprained ankle?" Captain Tréville asked, pointing to the medic's foot. "You shouldn't risk hurting yourself further."
"I have no other choice, Captain," Aramis retorted. "I know exactly what I need, and I do not expect anyone else to jeopardize their safety while I sit in here. D'Artagnan's care must come first," he glowered at his brother Musketeers.
"Fine, but you take it easy on that ankle," the captain relented, albeit reluctantly. "You let us watch out for DuBois while you do your work. Everyone get your pistols ready, and your candlesticks, and let's go."
~§~
"I'm not getting enough resin from this tree," Aramis grumbled, wiping his main gauche on the bark before standing. "I'll try another tree."
The group moved in unison, their eyes darting around nervously as Aramis searched for another tree. "This one should do nicely," the medic said. He let out a hiss of pain as he knelt in front of a thick pine and began digging into the bark.
"Come on, this is taking too long!" Javon complained bitterly.
"If I hear one more sour word from you I'm putting you on report," Captain Tréville threatened, losing patience.
The men grew quiet, listening to Aramis chipping away at the tree as the wind whistled through the pines. Their eyes suddenly widened at the sound of something running, and coming their way.
Captain Tréville turned in the direction of the noise, holding up his candle to illuminate the darkness; behind him, he heard the familiar clicking of the pistols to fully-cocked position, ready to fire.
The men raised their pistols as the running footsteps barreled ever closer. "Steady, men," Captain Tréville ordered in a whisper. "Hold your fire until we're sure of what it is."
Suddenly, a wild boar came rushing out of the trees, its eyes wide with fright. The captain flinched as one of the Musketeers fired his pistol, the ball going high over the animal and lodging in a tree. The boar charged right and then left, as if unsure in which direction to run; finally, it ran past the men and disappeared into the darkness.
"I said to hold your fire!" Captain Tréville admonished in a hissing whisper.
"I'm sorry, Captain," Javon apologized, "but I thought it was DuBois!"
"Something out there scared that boar," Fernier stated nervously, "they don't run like that unless there's a reason."
"That's right. . ."
"Shhh, stop talking!" Tréville hushed the men, raising his pistol in the direction of the trees. "He's out there; I hear him moving around."
"Captain, let's get back inside the house!" Lémieux hissed, his eyes wide with fright. "Aramis, hurry the hell up, man!"
"I'm going as fast as I can," Aramis snapped, "but I don't have enough resin."
"To hell with the resin!" Javon erupted, "it's not worth our lives!"
"But d'Artagnan is worth it, damn you!" Aramis suddenly sprang to his feet, getting right in Javon's face. "We are out here for a specific reason!"
"Alright, that's enough!" the captain ordered, pulling the medic away from the argumentative Musketeer. "Aramis, finish your work; Javon, I'm putting you on report once we return to the garrison."
"Captain!" Lémieux alerted, putting his finger over his lips to quiet the men. He pointed to the trees on their right, "He's over there."
"He's trying to flank us," Fernier whispered, turning to where Aramis was busily collecting a large chunk of resin. "Are you almost done?"
"Yes, I just tapped into a good supply," Aramis replied in a hurried whisper. "Just give me another minute. . ."
The men listened anxiously to the sound of fallen leaves crunching, and the occasional twig snapping on the forest floor. The eerie noises seemed to fade in and out, changing direction on the blowing wind.
"Come on, Aramis!" Fernier blurted over his shoulder, guarding the kneeling and vulnerable medic. "Hurry up!"
"He's coming!" Lémieux shouted a warning. He leveled his pistol as he stepped to the right, tripping over a large branch; the fall sent his pistol flying and the candle falling into the leaves.
Zzzzzzziiiiiiiipppppp!
Thunk!
Lémieux gasped in horror at the arrow, buried deep inside the tree at chest height, right where he had just been standing. "Mon Dieu! If I hadn't tripped, he would have killed me!"
"Aramis?" Captain Tréville hissed with alarm. "How much longer?"
"Captain, there he is!" Fernier shouted, pointing into the trees.
Ha, ha, ha, a voice laughed. "Pathetic Musketeers," the distant voice taunted.
Captain Tréville snapped his head in the direction of the voice and fired into the trees. He watched as the dark figure dodged behind a tree and then ran off, disappearing into the void. "Dammit!" he cursed at missing his mark. "Aramis, how much longer?"
"I'm done!" Aramis gasped in pain as he jumped to his feet, but then crumpled under his own weight. If not for the steadying hands of the captain, he would have fallen to the ground and spilled his precious resin. "Thank you!"
"Fire!" Fernier shouted, running to stomp out the fire spreading across the leaf litter on the forest floor.
Without thinking, Lémieux reached out and began stamping out the fire with his bare hand, the pain not yet registering.
"Lémieux, stop!" Captain Tréville ordered, stomping out the last of the flames under his boots. "Come on, let's go," he said, helping the stunned Musketeer to his feet. "Back to the house, everyone, now!"
The rag-tag group of Musketeers hastily made their way back to the château. Aramis was grateful for the support of his brother Musketeers, wrapping their arms tightly around his waist; he clutched tightly to the container in his hands, knowing the precious resin had come at great risk to their lives.
The group burst into the château, as Verday and Peseux pushed a heavy, mirrored console table in front of the doors, obstructing anyone who would try to barge through.
"I need to post guards at the windows. . ." Captain Tréville started, but was interrupted.
"Captain, we cannot possibly guard this entire house! DuBois could sneak inside any of the windows in the back and be on us before we know it!" Lémieux warned.
"Stay alert, men!" the captain retorted, "and let's hope he stays outside."
~§~
As the hours slowly passed, the men were subjected to constant taunts, jeers, and laughter from DuBois outside. Aramis distracted the men by carrying on conversations while taking care of their injuries.
"Lémieux, I know you burned yourself out there," the medic whispered, taking the Musketeer's hand. "Let me apply this ointment and bandage your hand while it's quiet."
Aramis proceeded to apply the salve and bandage the burned hand when a rock suddenly crashed through the window, narrowly missing his head.
"Madre de Dios!" the medic cursed, stumbling into Lémieux as he lost his balance. "Damn you, DuBois!"
Captain Tréville ran to window, grimacing as the fugitive turned to glare, his face twisted with hatred. "You're mine!" he yelled, disappearing.
"Maybe we should move upstairs where we'll be safer," Aramis suggested. "We're too vulnerable down here!"
"Captain, we could move to that bedchamber we inspected earlier," Fernier proposed, "it had large, heavy furniture to block the door."
"Yes, that's a good idea," Tréville agreed, nodding. "Fernier, I want you to grab as much wood as you can carry; we'll need to start another fire in the room. Lémieux, bring the rest of the candles and anything else we need. The rest of you can help Aramis up those stairs and carry d'Artagnan. Let's move!"
The men scurried about, grabbing the necessary items, before making their way upstairs. Javon wrapped his arm around the medic's waist, supporting Aramis as he clutched the resin in one hand and a bottle of Cognac in the other.
"Be careful with d'Artagnan," Captain Tréville instructed the remaining two men. They picked up the wounded Musketeer, carrying him toward the stairs as the captain took up the rear, guarding the men.
CRASH!
"Oh God, oh God," Peseux cried out, nearly dropping d'Artagnan on the stairs. "He's in the house!"
"Get d'Artagnan in that bedroom and lock yourselves in!" Captain Tréville ordered.
"But, Captain!"
"Do as I say!" the captain snapped, turning as he heard the sound of crunching glass. He readied his pistol, as he slowly made his way back down the stairs and toward the noise.
Suddenly, DuBois sprang like a cat out of the darkness, knocking Tréville backward and pinning him against the stairs. The captain raised his pistol against the assailant's side, but the weapon was wrenched from his hand with a sickening twist.
Tréville howled as his sore shoulder erupted in white-hot pain, burning like shock waves down his spine. With his injured shoulder rendered useless, the captain was no match for the savage strength of the fugitive.
The captain braced himself, sucking in a hitched breath as he caught sight of the raised stiletto; the slender blade glowed with the reflection of the fire still ablaze in the parlor.
An unexpected and sudden crash of a falling statue stopped DuBois in mid-stride, the knife suspended as though held by an unseen hand. The villain turned his head, searching for the perpetrator, but saw nothing. "Who's there?"
Captain Tréville struggled to break loose, releasing DuBois from his stupor; the fugitive lifted the blade and pointed it once again toward the captain's chest.
Tréville fought to keep the dagger from plunging into his chest, hissing in pain as the blade sliced through his fingers and across his palm. DuBois wrestled the knife from the captain's grasp then turned it to slice across the neck.
A portrait of the marquis with his wife suddenly fell off the wall and bounced down the stairs, hitting DuBois and knocking the knife free from his hand.
"What the. . .?" DuBois shouted, standing abruptly in shock.
Captain Tréville took advantage and scrambled away, running up the stairs to the bedchamber. He listened with surprise as he heard DuBois bolt through the front door, and retreat into the darkness.
~§~
"I don't think DuBois will be coming back, but it never hurts to be proactive," Tréville muttered, leaning heavily against the wall in the well-protected bedchamber.
"Captain, what in the hell happened out there?" Aramis asked, jumping to his feet with alarm. "You're bleeding! Are you alright?"
"I'm not sure, dammit!" Tréville blurted, fighting to maintain some semblance of composure. "It was the strangest thing. . ."
"Captain, I think you need to sit down," Aramis said, guiding his leader to sit by the fireplace. "Let me take a look at that wound."
The captain held out his hand, smeared and dripping with blood; his movements were slow, still dazed from the fight on the stairs.
"Ah, dammit!" Tréville yelped, gasping as the medic turned his hand over, examining the wounds.
"You hurt your shoulder out there again, didn't you?" Aramis surmised as the captain flinched at his touch. "Let's get this doublet off; I'm going to need to examine that shoulder and stitch these wounds. Oh no, the sewing basket is downstairs in the parlor!"
"No, I grabbed it," Lémieux corrected, pointing to the indispensable basket.
"Thank God," Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. "Bring it here, and then help me get this doublet off him. Captain, I need you to hold still and let us do the work."
"Go ahead," the captain whispered, nodding. He clenched his teeth, groaning in pain as the leather garment was carefully peeled from his body.
Aramis examined the captain's hand, wiping away the blood to reveal deep slashes across the fingers and the palm. "These are going to require stitches," he grimly announced. "First, I'm going to have to disinfect the needle and thread, and then I'll clean these wounds with the Cognac." The medic bit his lip, dreading the pain it would cause his captain. "It's going to sting."
"Just do what you have to," Tréville gave in, steeling himself as he watched the liquid pour. "Ah, my God, it burns!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry," Aramis apologized, engaging the captain in conversation to keep his mind off the pain. "So, how did you manage to fight DuBois off?"
"Somehow, I had help," the captain admitted with disbelief. "I can't exactly explain what happened; a statue fell over by itself, and then that portrait by the stairs fell off the wall and flew at DuBois."
"What do you mean, it flew?"
"It came off the wall and hit DuBois, knocking the knife right out of his hand," Tréville explained incredulously. "That is the only reason why I was able to get away. I would almost think that. . ."
". . . that the marquis was protecting you!" Aramis interjected, his eyes wide with realization.
"Marquis de Montois just saved your life, Captain!" Fernier exclaimed with certainty. "He's your guardian angel!"
"No, there has to be a logical explanation," the captain stated, shaking his head adamantly.
"Sir, there is no other explanation!" Lémieux countered. "If it hadn't been for the marquis, DuBois would have sliced your throat like he did Colbert!"
"I don't believe in ghosts," Captain Tréville replied, though his voice indicated his uncertainty.
"Sometimes we have to allow ourselves to believe in things we cannot prove or understand," Aramis interjected, as he finished suturing and bandaging the hand. The medic took a handful of pine resin and massaged it gently into the captain's wrenched shoulder. "It's called having faith," he smiled.
"The life of a soldier can make one's heart grow hard and immune to the brutalities of mankind," Tréville admitted softly. "I lost faith in God—and in people—a long time ago, but. . . perhaps the marquis has helped restore what I had lost."
"It appears the marquis didn't want DuBois around any more than we did," Aramis chuckled. The medic carefully guided the captain's arm back into his shirt sleeve and doublet, before securing the arm in a makeshift sling.
"This reign of terror DuBois has forced upon us will stop," Captain Tréville determined, his jaw set hard. "It's almost morning, we're going after that bastard at first light. This ends today!"
MORNING:
The first rays of the early morning sun filtered through the window and fell on d'Artagnan, warming his face. The injured Gascon stirred, wincing at the bright light shining in his eyes. "Oh, my head," d'Artagnan moaned. "What happened? Where. . . where am I?"
"D'Artagnan, what do you remember?" Aramis asked with concern. "What is the last thing you remember?"
"I don't. . . I don't remember. . ."
"You don't remember the château?" Aramis gently reminded, his concern growing. "It was dark. . ."
"How could you possibly forget about DuBois?" Javon cracked without a thought. "You must've taken a harder blow to your head than we thought!"
Aramis and the captain shot an angry glare Javon's way. The captain opened his mouth to scold the man but was interrupted.
"Mon Dieu! I remember. . . I remember everything!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, trying to sit up. "I remember DuBois at the top of the stairs. . ."
"Yes, he was at the top of the stairs and he shot at you, managing to hit you in the side," Aramis divulged, adding, "which is why you fell."
As Aramis filled the Gascon in on his injuries, the captain had the men gather at the door, preparing to go out on the hunt for DuBois.
"Wait a minute, Captain," Aramis stood, overhearing the conversation about checking their weapons and ammunition. "Hold on, you're not going out there without me!"
"Aramis, you have a patient to tend to," Captain Tréville insisted, shaking his head. "Besides, your hurt ankle will only slow us down."
"The hell it will!" Aramis retaliated, standing abruptly. "No disrespect intended, Sir, but I deserve to go, and no sprained ankle is going to keep me from hunting that bastard down!"
"And what about d'Artagnan?" the captain asked with alarm. "You're not going to leave him here alone?"
"Captain, really," Aramis replied with surprise, "you know me better than that. Peseux has some medical training and Verday is an excellent fighter; they could keep an eye on d'Artagnan, though I imagine he's going to be sleeping most of the day."
"I don't need a babysitter," d'Artagnan grumbled, glaring at Aramis.
"I didn't say you did, but someone should be with you for protection anyway," Aramis responded, before turning back to the captain. "Verday and Peseux are the best men to stay, but there is no way in hell you're leaving me behind!"
"Aramis. . ." Tréville began to protest.
The medic limped over to his long doublet and slipped it on, buttoning it up; he looked for his sash, but remembered it was blood-soaked and ruined. He strapped on his weapon's belt and sheathed his main gauche, "I'm going with you."
"Alright, men, let's move," Captain Tréville sighed, relenting before the medic's stubborn insistence. "Peseux, Verday, I want you to move the wardrobe back in front of the door; do not let anyone into this room until we get back. D'Artagnan, try to get some rest."
"Take good care of him," Aramis directed the two remaining Musketeers. "Make sure he stays still and get plenty of rest."
"Mmmm, too tir'd t' move," d'Artagnan slurred as his head lolled to the side, falling asleep.
"Let's go, gentlemen," Captain Tréville ordered.
~§~
The group of men walked through the tall grass, still wet with morning dew. The captain wrinkled his brow, taking notice of the wet ground, seemingly trampled recently by heavy boots.
"This grass looks like someone came this way not too long ago," the captain stated, pointing to the footprints. "I'll bet these are DuBois' footprints."
At the forest's edge, the clearing revealed a large pond with stately houses scattered along the bank. Large clouds of mist rose into the air from the water where a pair of geese were lazily swimming.
"Well, I'll be damned," Captain Tréville muttered to himself. "I know this pond! Ville d'Avray is just ahead."
"Of course," Aramis concurred, leaning on his walking stick while looking around. "It's much easier to orient oneself in the daylight," he quipped.
The men continued following the footprints around the pond, when suddenly the geese were spooked and took off in hasty flight, honking angrily at being disturbed.
"DuBois!" the captain shouted, as he took off in a sprint. The remaining men ran after the captain, except Lémieux who stayed behind to help Aramis hobble along, trying his best to run on the sprained ankle.
"He went into the village!" Tréville yelled over his shoulder to the men. "There, I saw him go into that barn!"
"Captain, wait!" Aramis shouted in frustration. The medic watched with relief as the group stopped at the fence, waiting for the two stragglers to catch up.
"DuBois went inside that barn," the captain said, out of breath. "If we surround the structure, we should be able to catch him inside. You three take the front entrance; Aramis and I will take the back."
Tréville waited until the three men were in position at the front doors of the barn, nodding that they were ready. The captain held up two fingers, giving the signal to move in two minutes.
Aramis and the captain made their way to the back of the barn, but stopped as they found the path blocked by a wagon, large cart and plow. As they moved around the equipment, the barn suddenly rocked with a violent explosion, throwing the men into the air.
The captain's ears buzzed loudly, muting the noise around him. Black dots danced in his vision, clearing slowly to reveal smoke billowing between the wooden slats of the barn. "Oh God, no!"
"Aramis?" the captain called, but was met with silence. He frantically looked around when he spotted the medic, crumpled in a heap and unmoving. "Aramis? No!"
"Well, well, well, you Musketeers sure are a tough bunch, I'll give you that," DuBois sneered. The fugitive stepped on the captain's hand as he tried reaching for his pistol. "Oh no, you can't get rid of me that easily," he laughed. "I would have thought you'd have learned that by now."
"DuBois, you bastard, if you have hurt. . . any more of my men, I will . . ."
"You will what? Kill me?" DuBois laughed. "Yes, you've said as much; your medic did as well, but it doesn't look like he's going anywhere anytime soon. As for your other men, well, I was hoping my little trap would kill all of you in one fell swoop. But, damn, this works out even more deliciously," he snickered, rubbing his hands together with excitement. "No, I will let you live so you can watch your men suffer."
The fugitive reached down and grabbed Tréville by his throat and pulled him in close. "I'm going to take from you, the same as you Musketeers took from me. I will make all of you suffer; I will make you hurt, the same way you have hurt me."
"DuBois, stop. . ." Tréville rasped, gasping for breath as the fugitive squeezed his fingers around the captain's neck.
"I know your two men are at the garrison, recovering from their little accident in the tunnels. It's too bad they survived; I thought my plan was flawless," he snarled wickedly. "No matter, while you're taking a nap, I will pay a little visit to Paris and finish what I started. Your men will die with my name on their lips! This time, you can do nothing to stop me," he growled menacingly. "Game over, Captain. I win!"
He roughly threw his helpless victim back to the dirt. The captain spluttered and gasped, and then closed his eyes as his world went black.
A/N:
Pine Resin:
Hippocrates studied pine for its great therapeutic value on the respiratory system. The resin is an excellent anti-inflammatory, mild analgesic and anti-spasmodic agent. It is often called a wonder drug, good for chest colds and congestion when rubbed into the chest as an oil or salve, or inhaled. Pine is perfect for aching joints and soothing sore muscles.
Pine salve is also great for wounds - drawing out impurities (splinters, gravel, dirt). It is a traditional medicine, handed down through generations of Native Americans when treating wounds involving infection, gangrene, septicemia and other deadly infections.
The Pond At Ville D'Avray:
French name - L'étang de Ville d'Avray, was painted, circa 1867, by Jean Baptiste Camille Corot (1796-1875). The artist maintained a residence in the village and used the area as a subject for several paintings.
Ville d'Avray:
Ville d'Avray is a commune located about 12 km (7 miles) west of Paris, and east of Versailles. It is surrounded by large national parks that once formed a network of royal hunting grounds for the kings of France and his entourage. The Etangs de Carot are two man-made ponds, one of which was created at the end of the Middle Ages by noblemen as a fishing reserve. The second pond was created by Louis XIV's brother, Philippe, Duke of Orléans, who needed water and power for his castle, the nearby Château de Saint-Cloud. The château was destroyed in 1870 during the Franco-Prussian War—heartbreaking!