Thanks for the continued interest in this story. Also, thanks to AZGirl for her suggestions that improved this story. Hope you enjoy this next part!
The elder Saunier's predications had both come to fruition. Remi had produced a steady supply of questions until his father had finally told him it was time for bed. The young man had looked so heartbroken that d'Artagnan had been unable to resist promising they'd continue their conversation the following morning during breakfast. The Gascon also had to admit that he felt much better after a proper night's sleep, spent on a well-stuffed mattress rather than the hard, cold ground.
After the morning meal, d'Artagnan had accompanied Remi out to the barn to prepare his horse, the boy nearly bouncing more than walking at his side as he supposedly led the way. When they arrived, the younger Saunier pointed to one of the stalls, announcing proudly, "I took very good care of him. I made sure he had food and water, and after dinner I brushed him until his coat shone." Motioning to a nail on one wall, he went on. "I gave his bridle a clean, too."
The Gascon's face split into a wide grin at the boy's enthusiasm, and his hand snaked out to give Remi's shoulder a quick squeeze as he said, "Thank you, I'm certain he couldn't have been in better hands." The young man's face flushed at the praise, and he ducked his head as d'Artagnan let his hand drop. Moving forward, he laid a hand the horse's flank, his eyes travelling along its lean lines even as his brain approved of what he saw. Finished with his examination, he shifted his stance and reached for the bridle, dropping his extended arm a moment later as his ribs protested and he gasped in pain.
"Are you alright?" Remi asked in concern, already moving to grab the tack and begin fitting it onto the horse, while the Gascon held his side.
d'Artagnan bit his lip for a moment as he pushed back the pain, giving a nod instead of attempting a verbal response. The truth was that even a good night's sleep was too little to erase the fiery ache of his injuries, but he didn't want to scare the young man. Instead, he watched as the boy adjusted the bridle, his breathing finally easing enough for him to speak. "Thank you."
Remi dipped his chin in reply as he grasped the reins and lead the animal outside, the Musketeer following in his wake. He was glad to be behind the perceptive young man, not needing to hide his expression of discomfort as he moved gingerly, mindful of his many tender and bruised parts. Being on a horse so soon after he'd been beaten was less than ideal, but d'Artagnan was determined to make up the time he'd lost and complete his mission. He could not risk letting Treville or the regiment down again, and hoped that his swift return would ease some of the ill feelings that he'd left behind.
The younger Saunier stopped the horse once they were several feet away from the barn's entrance. d'Artagnan did his best to look around unobtrusively, recognizing that he would again need assistance to mount his steed. As if reading his thoughts, Remi nudged the animal into motion once more, leading it towards one side of the house where a fence was vainly trying to hold some scrub brush back from encroaching on the property. The boy stopped and looked expectantly to the Musketeer. "When I ride without a saddle, I climb up from the fence. I thought you could do the same."
The words were spoken with complete sincerity, and with the sole intention of helping the soldier who had regaled him with exciting stories of heroism well into the night. With a smile of gratitude, d'Artagnan gave a nod and moved closer, Remi watching him with a beaming smile of his own at having been able to help a member of the King's regiment.
The Gascon mounted stiffly, carefully schooling his features so that none of his discomfort showed in his expression. With a final word of thanks to his young helper, and a wave of farewell to the elder Saunier, d'Artagnan nudged his horse into a slow trot. The motion immediately pulled on his injured body, but he bit his lip and continued on, focused only on his destination and the execution of his orders.
True to his word, Treville had kept Athos and Porthos off duty for the remainder of the day, allowing them to stay by Aramis' side. Despite the fact that they were together, their mood was unusually sombre, their thoughts occupied by the uncertainty of the Gascon's fate. Porthos did his best to lighten his friends' spirits, reminding them of d'Artagnan's incredible luck, but he had little success. Athos was awash in feelings of guilt at his censure of the young man's actions and then his subsequent conflicting thoughts, unable to decide whether he was more angry or worried about his protégé. Aramis, on the other hand, didn't blame d'Artagnan for most recent woes. Instead, during the intermittent moments when he wasn't consumed by his body's profound misery, he was having a difficult time understanding the animosity he was sensing towards the Gascon.
Athos had returned to the garrison to collect food for their dinner, but Serge's latest offering still lay mostly untouched, Athos having little interest in food, while Porthos and Aramis' stomachs were still somewhat unsettled after their many hours of illness. The latter man especially had his friends worried, having consumed only a few sips of broth before pushing the cup away, his throat swallowing convulsively against the nausea he felt building. He'd managed to keep the liquid down, but the scene had Porthos and Athos trading concerned looks, wondering how long it would take the marksman to recover from this most recent setback. Aramis was unable to reassure them as he normally would, feeling weak and wrung out, and beginning to have his own doubts about ever being fit and healthy again.
By unspoken agreement, they'd spent the night together, Porthos and Athos feeling better knowing they were nearby if the marksman needed anything, but the ill man slept deeply if somewhat fitfully. With the morning light, Athos roused and dressed silently, careful not to disturb either of his slumbering friends. He was certain that Treville would allow Porthos a later start to the day, and just as certain that he'd be expected to resume his duties today as the rest of the regiment recovered. His early arrival at the garrison allowed him time to sit at their usual table, and he passed the time sharpening his main gauche as the men slowly awoke.
He continued in his repetitive task until Serge appeared before him and, with a huff, grabbed one of Athos' hands to place an apple into it. Giving the fruit a meaningful look, the old cook disappeared as Athos let out a heavy sigh, grudgingly cutting off a piece with his newly-sharpened blade and popping it into his mouth. It was a good thing that Serge had forced him to eat, as it ended up being the only food he consumed until late that night when he returned from duty at the palace. After the long day, his injured arm ached and his head felt as though constrained by a vice. He managed only a grunt of greeting to his friends, before toeing off his boots and taking a healthy swallow of brandy straight from the bottle.
As the fiery liquid burned a trail down to his stomach, he met Porthos' eyes, knowing that the other man had been on duty at the garrison for a few hours that afternoon before returning to care for Aramis. The larger man was still somewhat pale in comparison to his regular swarthy features, and his countenance showed his fatigue, but he smiled, eyes shining with their typical enthusiasm for life, and Athos felt reassured that his friend was recovering well. He glanced next at Aramis, who lay partially propped up and dozing, his features still far too gaunt for the older man's comfort.
With a roll of his eyes and a resigned sigh, Porthos answered the unspoken question. "We're fine, Athos. We've both eaten and were just waiting for you to get back. Any word?" The older man didn't have to wonder what news his friend was hoping for, and he gave a tired shake of his head.
"No news is probably good news, and means d'Artagnan's still on his way," Porthos stated, although it was difficult to ascertain just who he was trying to convince. "We saved you some dinner," the larger man offered, and Athos contemplated eating for only a moment before a lurch of his stomach had him shaking his head once more. Porthos frowned and was about to try and convince him, but a proper look at the man had him biting back his words, recognizing that sleep was likely the best thing right now.
As if sensing his thoughts, Athos took another long pull from the bottle in his hand before replacing the cork, and setting it down on the table. With a wave of his hand to say good night, he collapsed tiredly onto his pallet on the floor and into a deep sleep.
d'Artagnan was exceptionally weary but he was determined that he would reach Paris by nightfall. After an inauspicious start to his mission, he'd managed to set a speedy pace that was governed only by the needs of his horse. His injured body hadn't thanked him for it, but his willpower had overcome the persistent aches and pains that had become a part of his daily existence. Arriving in Châteaudun on the evening of his sixth day, he'd presented himself to the Comte, only to be turned away empty-handed. The nobleman had declared the man before him an imposter, and without his distinctive Musketeer pauldron, d'Artagnan had no way of convincing him otherwise.
His dismissal from the Comte's estate had been upsetting and embarrassing, but not half as much as the thought of returning to the garrison without the package he'd been sent to retrieve. It was this failure that occupied his thoughts during his journey home, and he wondered how Treville or his friends could ever forgive him for yet another botched mission. Initially, he'd hoped to keep his stolen pauldron a secret, at least from the Captain, unable to face the shame of having been robbed. With the Comte's refusal to pass over possession of the item he'd been sent to collect, the luxury of keeping anything from Treville had been lost, and he now faced the ugly fact that his commanding officer would have to be told the full story.
His lack of success, so close on the heels of his cooking disaster, could not possibly bode well, and d'Artagnan's hours on horseback were occupied with the many creative ways in which he might be punished. If he were honest, being punished was the outcome he was hoping for, praying that his actions would not have him stripped of his commission instead. When his mind had worried over the situation with Treville sufficiently, his thoughts would turn to his friends, and new fears would replace the old ones as he'd wonder whether Aramis had recovered from his special meal. The idea of labelling his meal as 'special' had him cringing, and d'Artagnan found himself wishing he'd never offered to cook in the first place.
And that was the problem. With every mile that passed, he could only wish that things had turned out differently. That he hadn't followed Aramis' orders to follow the others, thereby leaving him vulnerable to attack. That he'd stayed by Aramis' side more diligently so the marksman hadn't been hurt in the first place. That he hadn't been too proud to accept Serge's help with his secret ingredient. That he'd been more observant and been able to fend off his attackers. That he didn't feel like he'd brought shame upon the regiment, but most importantly his friends.
Things between them had been improving steadily, just as Aramis' health had improved. At the time of their ill-fated meal, things had pretty much returned to normal, only to be ruined by his simple mistake. Athos' eyes when he'd commanded the Gascon to leave had been hard, and lacking any of the affection that d'Artagnan had become accustomed to seeing there. As terrible as he'd felt about what Porthos and Aramis had endured because of his error, it was Athos' censure that struck him the hardest. Worst of all, he understood that there would be no forgiveness from his mentor if either of the other two men suffered permanent consequences as a result of his mistake. If that were to happen, d'Artagnan may as well resign his commission and leave before being asked to do so.
With these dark thoughts weighing him down, the Gascon travelled down the hill overlooking the city, the view failing to inspire him for the first time in memory. Instead, his horse plodded through the city gates and then the streets in a reflection of its rider's melancholy mood. He could just hear Serge ringing the bell for the evening meal as he approached, and he paused outside the garrison entrance, not quite ready to enter. The stronghold which had always represented honour and safety now held a very different meaning for him, and he couldn't help but shudder as he considered that these might be his last few minutes as a member of the regiment. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he nudged his horse back into motion, determined to face whatever awaited him.
The days since d'Artagnan had left had passed in relative calm, with things at the garrison slowly returning to normal. Most of the affected men had been back on duty within three days, with the exception of a couple of the more extreme cases, of which Aramis was one. The marksman's weakened condition had meant that he'd suffered more severely, and it wasn't until the fourth day following his accidental poisoning that he had even able to consume broth without feeling ill afterwards. Bland, thin food followed for another two days, leaving Aramis once more feeling shaky and weak, with his friends worrying over his gaunt frame.
As much as he wanted to, the marksman was unable to assure his friends that he hadn't lost any more weight – he'd already had to add two new notches to his belt in order to buckle it tightly enough to stay up. Despite his slow recovery, he was getting better, and more than a week after his sickness he was beginning to enjoy the taste of food again. His friends had noticed that he was still unable to eat large meals, so they plied him constantly with smaller servings and snacks, and as much as it annoyed Aramis to have someone continually presenting him with food, the strategy was working and he was feeling better.
His biggest concern now was boredom as he began to regain his strength while still lacking the energy to resume his duties. This was always the hardest part of the recovery period, and the time when the others were most vigilant, understanding how tempting it was to overdo things and accidently set oneself back. As a result, there was always someone keeping an eye on Aramis, ensuring he rested and didn't do too much, even when Athos and Porthos weren't present. It made the days long, and he waited anxiously on his friends' return each night, relishing the stories they would share which had now become his main form of entertainment.
Tonight he was waiting at their usual table, Serge already having laid out some food for them in anticipation of their arrival. It was a kindness the old cook had extended since he felt partly responsible for d'Artagnan's mistake, and he'd taken to ensuring that Aramis always received food before the rest of the regiment so he could put on the weight he'd lost over the past few weeks. At first, the marksman had tried to dissuade Serge from giving him any special treatment, but when he realized it made the cook feel better, he simply thanked the man for his thoughtfulness.
Within minutes of taking his seat, he was joined by Athos and Porthos, the two men having been kept on palace duty throughout Aramis' recovery. It was another generous act, and one which the marksman had been conscientious about thanking Treville for when he'd had the chance. Unsurprisingly, the Captain had raised a questioning eyebrow and refused to take any credit for the fortunate way in which the duty roster had been arranged.
As the two men sat down across from him, Aramis couldn't keep a smile from his face as he eagerly asked, "Well, what's the latest palace gossip?"
Porthos gave an amused shake of his head as he guffawed softly, reaching for a piece of bread as he replied, "You've gotten worse than an old woman."
Aramis gave a mock pout as he pointed out, "That's not fair. I wouldn't be in such dire need of hearing the latest intrigues if I wasn't stuck here all day and barely allowed to do anything. Do you know that Marceau forbade me from doing an inventory of the muskets today? Said I wasn't to overexert myself or some such thing."
The expression of indignation on the marksman's face was too much for even Athos to resist as his lips turned up in a smile. "Then I shall have to thank Marceau for protecting you from yourself."
Aramis sputtered at the comment as Porthos laughed once more. "And here I thought you two were my friends," the marksman complained with his arms crossed over his chest.
"We are," Porthos agreed, motioning to his friend's empty plate. "That's why we're looking out for you. Now eat."
Aramis didn't even waste time arguing, knowing from previous experience that if he refused, his plate would be filled for him by the other two and he'd be expected to finish whatever he'd been given. Once he'd started to eat, Athos said, "The doctor's been talking with Treville and believes you can return to full days of light duties as of tomorrow. If all goes well, you should be back on full duty by the end of the week."
The marksman's face lit up with glee at the idea of finally being able to relieve his boredom. "That means I'll be able to join you on any missions the Captain assigns once d'Artagnan's back."
Porthos glanced in Athos' direction as he concurred, "He's right, the lad should be back in four days so maybe we can finally look forward to something more interesting than duty at the palace."
The older man looked uncomfortable as he was reminded of his protégé's imminent return. Although it was apparent that neither Porthos nor Aramis held any ill will toward the young man for his mistake, Athos was still struggling to come to terms with how he was feeling. As a result, he'd steered clear of the subject with his two friends, fearing that they would sense his reluctance to forgive the young man, and take it upon themselves to convince him of his folly. Looking up from his plate, he found both men staring at him as they waited for a response, which was thankfully cut off by the ringing dinner bell. Athos took the opportunity to have another bite, thereby further delaying the conversation until he'd chewed and swallowed.
The sound of the bell died away and was replaced with the sound of hoof beats, announcing the approach of a rider. With their discussion on hold, the three turned toward the gates to watch as d'Artagnan rode in. The Gascon was the last person they'd expected to see given the distance he'd had to travel. To return so quickly, the young man must have ridden hard, stopping only for as long as he needed to in order to accomplish his task before turning around again and heading for Paris. Above their heads, the Captain had appeared, and unknown to the men below, his thoughts mirrored theirs.
Porthos and Aramis stood as the Gascon slid from his horse, a frown appearing at once on the larger man's face as he noted the absence of a saddle. d'Artagnan came around the front of his horse and spotted his friends, his face breaking out in a tired smile, the look slipping swiftly as he noticed Athos' stern expression. Before any of them could speak, Treville caught their attention as he made his way down to the courtyard to examine the young man. Now that he was closer, the Captain could see how tired and worn d'Artagnan appeared, with deep shadows underneath both eyes. Narrowing his eyes, Treville noted the absence of any weapons, and his gaze swept over the young man's horse for a moment, confirming the lack of armament there as well.
Returning his eyes to the Gascon, he asked, "Do you have the item you were sent to retrieve?"
d'Artagnan's gaze momentarily dropped to the ground before he looked up again, searching out a spot over the Captain's shoulder since he was unable to meet the man's eyes. "No, Sir, the Comte refused to give it to me."
Treville's expression turned concerned as he pressed, "Why not? He understood the agreement. Did something happen?"
Giving a minute nod, the Gascon replied, "Yes, Sir. I was unable to convince the Comte of my identity so he sent me away."
The officer's eyes narrowed again as they snapped to the shoulder that should have been adorned with a Musketeer pauldron, but now was bare. With a steely tone, he asked, "Where is your pauldron?"
The young man's eyes lowered again as he answered softly. "I lost it."
"You lost it?" Treville hissed, anger beginning to take hold.
Swallowing thickly, d'Artagnan dipped his chin. "Yes, Sir. I was robbed and they took my pauldron," he motioned back vaguely at his horse as he went on, "among other things."
Treville's eyes automatically flicked over to the bare-backed mount, once more taking in the absence of a saddle and any weapons. Taking a steadying breath, he questioned, "When did this happen?"
"On the day after I left Paris," the Gascon replied, hoping that the Captain would at least appreciate his perseverance in completing the mission, despite having been attacked.
"Let me see if I have this right," Treville said calmly. "You were within a day of the garrison when you were robbed of your pauldron, saddle and weapons." He paused until d'Artagnan nodded to confirm the accuracy of his statement. "Then, instead of returning to replace the items you'd lost, you continued on, only to arrive without any means of proving your identity before returning empty-handed. Is that correct?"
d'Artagnan's face burned with shame as he listened to Treville summarize what he'd been told. He'd known that the Captain would be understandably upset, but listening to the man's words now made the Gascon question everything he'd done – it seemed so obvious that the correct decision would have been to return rather than forging onwards. Licking his dry lips, he answered, "Yes, Sir."
Treville pressed his lips together as he glanced over his shoulder, noting that both Aramis and Porthos had moved closer in order to hear what was being said, and even Athos had risen from the table and taken a few steps forward. Turning his attention back to the Gascon he said, "See that your horse is taken care of and report to me first thing tomorrow. We'll discuss the consequences of your actions then."
"Yes, Sir," d'Artagnan managed to mumble, holding his position until the officer had turned and walked away. Misery shone from his eyes as he sought some form of comfort in the expressions of his friends. Porthos' and Aramis' faces wore matching looks of compassion, but when he shifted his gaze to Athos, he found nothing but scorn and disapproval. The look startled him so that he only managed to mutter a soft good night before leading his horse towards the stable.
Stunned, Aramis and Porthos returned to the table. "The Captain seemed pretty upset with him," Porthos stated sympathetically. "I hope he's not too hard on the boy."
Aramis was nodding in agreement as Athos began to speak. "Of course Treville is upset with him. He wasn't even capable of completing a simple mission. If he can't be trusted with a task such as this, how can he be trusted with anything of a more crucial nature?" The question was clearly rhetorical, but Aramis and Porthos traded surprised looks, not expecting the older man to be so critical of their young friend.
As Athos took another bite of his dinner, he wondered to himself, "How can I ever trust him again?" After everything that had happened, that seemed to be the only question left which mattered.