They'd spent a lazy afternoon together at Athos' apartments. d'Artagnan had slept for a couple of hours after lunch, though he was loath to admit he was still tired and suffered from occasional headaches that were so intense he could barely move. Aramis had assured him that they would ease over time as the effects of his concussion diminished, but the Gascon was far from patient with the reminders of his infirmity. Fortunately, his other injuries were healing and he could walk relatively well, albeit with a slight limp, his knee only bothering him after being on his feet for longer periods of time. His shoulder was nearly healed also, and if not for his ribs, he would have probably been back on light duty by now.
Athos faced a similar recovery period, and despite chafing at the imposed rest, he reminded himself that some good had come of their confinement – they'd all finally spoken about what had happened, and the older man was now comfortable that all thoughts of resigning his commission had left d'Artagnan's head. That didn't mean that everything was fine, with many in the regiment still blaming the Gascon for what had happened, but Athos was certain the news they'd hear later in the evening would go far to change that.
Aramis and Porthos had also been busy, despite the fact that both men were also still healing from their own wounds. In the end, it meant that Porthos did a great deal of glaring, while Aramis wheedled, pressed, and ultimately threatened anyone and everyone who might have even the slightest bit of information to share. While no one had initially believed that any of the Inseparables was wiling to use physical force to uncover the truth of d'Artagnan's earlier misfortune, that confidence had been shaken when Treville had returned, stunned and furious, with two of his best men in critical condition. Although all of his charges were healing, the Captain's temper remained and made regular appearances, leaving the rest of the regiment on pins and needles as they waited for something to give.
No one seemed outwardly apologetic that d'Artagnan had had to endure the informal punishment of his peers, with none willing to admit their actions, lest they become the next focus of Treville's wrath. Despite that, and with lose under scrutiny happily pointing the finger of accusation elsewhere, it took relatively little time and effort to discover the trail that led to the men who'd orchestrated d'Artagnan's illness and subsequent attack.
That night, Aramis and Porthos arrived with dinner and two unexpected guests – the Captain and Serge. All of them had their hands full, bearing a hearty stew, loaves of fresh bread, and several bottles of wine. If Athos was surprised by the arrival of so many people, he hid it well, while d'Artagnan's mouth fell open and it took him several moments to compose himself enough to greet Treville and the old cook. With practiced ease, three-quarters of the Inseparables laid out the food and poured the wine, while Serge further surprised the Gascon by enveloping him in a brief hug. As the young man hesitantly returned the embrace, the cook whispered in his ear, "It's good to see you back on your feet." d'Artagnan merely dipped his head in thanks, trying to hide the blush that had spread over his face at the other man's kind words.
As Serge moved away to help the others, Treville stepped forward and extended his hand, oddly echoing Serge's sentiment as he gripped the Gascon's forearm for a moment. "It's good to see you looking so well, d'Artagnan. I trust that you'll be back on duty soon."
The young man's expression clouded for a moment, as his insecurity rose at the thought of once more returning to stand side-by-side with his brothers-in-arms. Luckily, Aramis had overheard the comment and came to stand behind the Gascon, clapping him lightly on the back as he said, "Back to light duty only, I think, along with Athos and Porthos." The idea of being on light duty with his friends buoyed d'Artagnan and he managed a soft smile of gratitude.
"Come and eat while everything's still warm," the cook's voice called, and the men gathered around Athos' table, taking seats as they dug into the food. Their conversation remained light for several minutes until they'd all made good inroads on their meals. Abandoned by his usual patience, Athos finally caught Aramis' and Porthos' eyes and said, "I understand you were busy while we were languishing in the infirmary. Care to share?"
Treville's and Serge's gazes also shifted to the two men, even though the former already knew what they were all about to hear. Porthos and Aramis communicated silently through a look, before turning back to the others. The larger man put his spoon down and cleared his throat, taking a quick swallow of his wine before he began. "d'Artagnan, I understand that you were sick shortly after departing Paris." There was no question in Porthos' tone and the Gascon merely ducked his head momentarily in discomfort, still embarrassed by what he'd endured.
"You had no control over what must have been a very uncomfortable experience," Aramis stated, immediately reading the expression on their friend's face. "Someone had added spindleberries to your water skin. It causes some very unpleasant effects including vomiting and loose bowels." Athos threw the medic a glare as he was about to spoon another bite of stew into his mouth, and the marksman offered a contrite grin in reply as he said, "Sorry."
"Are you saying that someone intentionally made me sick?" d'Artagnan asked, his meal know lying forgotten in front of him.
Porthos gave a slow nod. "They knew that you'd be distracted and too weak to fight back, when the others found you."
Aramis took up the tale again as the larger man pulled a bite of bread from one of the loaves. "The men are known to the Musketeers, and have been involved in some petty crimes, including theft and tavern brawls, but for some reason, they have always managed to escape punishment."
"Turns out that was because of their benefactors," Porthos spat out the last word in obvious distaste.
"Garon?" Athos asked, recalling his earlier conversation with the cowardly man.
Aramis gave a shake of his head as he replied, "Paseur." Athos' eyebrow rose while d'Artagnan's expression clouded further, hearing just how angry the other men in the regiment had been with him. While no one had been shy about throwing disparaging comments his way or sabotaging his work, this was the first instance of which he was aware in which someone had actually tried to harm him in retribution.
"Garon was protecting Paseur when you talked to him, Athos," Porthos stated. "He didn't actually know if Paseur had done anything, but told us that Paseur was especially interested in teaching the boy a lesson." Porthos threw a look of apology towards d'Artagnan, trying to soften the impact of his words.
Sensing how difficult it was becoming for Aramis and Porthos to continue explaining what had happened, Treville took up the tale. "Paseur was hoping that Garon might do or say something to implicate himself on the morning when you were preparing to leave for your mission. Although disappointed that Garon did nothing, he'd already conspired with Cellier to taint your food or drink with spindleberries. When they realized that you were leaving, Cellier fouled your water before you left. Paseur then contacted Filleul, and it was he and his men who attacked you on the road." The Captain stopped, offering the Gascon an opportunity to process what he'd heard.
d'Artagnan remained silent for nearly a minute before asking, "But why? They left me my horse and most of my supplies – why would they do that?"
Porthos looked angry as he provided the answer. "Because they were cowards."
As the expression of confusion on d'Artagnan's face deepened, Aramis said softly, "Because they didn't want to be accused of murder if their part in things ever came to light."
The Gascon mouthed a silent "oh", still somewhat stunned at everything he'd learned. This time it was Athos who bought the young man some time by standing and refilling everyone's glasses, pointedly pushing d'Artagnan's toward him and encouraging him to drink. When he drained its contents, Athos filled it once more, waiting a moment to see if his protégé was going to empty it again, and then retaking his seat when d'Artagnan left it untouched.
Replacing the bottle on the table, Athos looked to Treville as he asked, "I assume everyone involved has been dealt with?"
The Captain and Serge shared a knowing look that suggested the two men had already spoken about the topic, before the former man replied. "Filleul and his men are languishing in His Majesty's prison, and Paseur and Cellier will get an opportunity to experience d'Artagnan's punishments for themselves, however theirs will last for two weeks."
The old cook's wrinkled face broke out in a broad grin as he said, "I've got some special recipes in mind. Plus, having two extra sets of hands will let me take care of a few other chores, like cleaning and moving around the stores in the cellar." Porthos' and Aramis' expressions matched Serge's as they imagined the back-breaking labour that awaited the two traitorous Musketeers.
"When they've finished, they'll be dispatched to the northern outpost where they'll be patrolling the border for the next three months. With how quiet things have been up there, they'll have plenty of time to think reflect on their actions," Treville concluded.
Athos nodded slowly in approval; the men's isolation in such a remote location would more than test their resolve to remain Musketeers. The former Comte was certain that two men who enjoyed their creature comforts as much as Paseur and Cellier did, would choose to resign rather endure what the Captain had decreed. Wordlessly, he tipped his head in thanks to Treville for his decision, confident that there would soon be two fewer men for d'Artagnan to be wary of.
The Captain raised his glass, intending to finish it in preparation to depart. "To your good health, gentleman," he toasted, his gaze lingering for a moment longer on both Athos' and d'Artagnan's faces. The others followed suit, and within a matter of minutes, Treville and Serge were saying their goodbyes.
While the officer conferred with Aramis, Serge once again came close to d'Artagnan, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face. "d'Artagnan, I wanted to apologize." The Gascon frowned in consternation, uncertain to what exactly the cook was referring. "I found out what Marcel did and wanted to let you know I never would have let things continue if I'd known. You were a hard worker, and it wasn't my intention to make things any more difficult for you than they already were."
The Gascon's face broke out in a shy smile at Serge's consideration. "There's no need to apologize, Serge, and please don't blame Marcel. He had every right to be angry with me." The cook seemed unsure, so d'Artagnan went on. "Really, it's fine."
Watching the young man for a last, long moment, Serge finally dipped his head in agreement, whispering a soft words of thanks as he joined Treville at the door. With a final farewell, the men were gone, and seconds later the Inseparables were alone in the quiet room.
Aramis and Porthos exchanged questioning glances, first with one another and then with Athos, the older man giving a minute shake of his head. Receiving the unspoken message, Porthos announced, "Well, I'm tired and think I'll be heading back to my room." Aramis couldn't stop the eye roll that ensued at his friend's poor excuse, but d'Artagnan didn't seem to notice.
"Very well," the medic replied. "I'll walk back with you so I can change your bandages." Still, the Gascon remained unresponsive, his eyes staring unseeingly at some point on the far wall. "We'll bring breakfast in the morning?" The questioning tone was aimed at Athos, and the older man gave a soft smile to indicate his agreement with the marksman's suggestion.
Identical expressions of worry appeared on the departing men's faces, but Athos stilled them with a look, signalling with a wave of his hand that he had things well in hand and for them to go. Aramis and Porthos swiftly gathered their things, saying goodnight, and then heading towards the door. The larger man detoured momentarily to comfortingly squeeze d'Artagnan's shoulder first. The touch seemed to pull the Gascon from his thoughts, and he offered his friends a faint smile as they exited.
Athos moved around the room for a few minutes, clearing the used dishes before collecting his and d'Artagnan's glasses, along with a bottle of wine. He brought the latter items to the chairs facing the fire, placing them on a low table before returning to grip his protégé's arm and guiding him to a seat. He poured hefty portions into both cups and handed one to the young man, biding his time until d'Artagnan was ready to speak.
For several minutes, the Gascon sipped his wine, while staring into the low flames that danced in the fireplace. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and his tone sombre, reflecting how difficult the evening had been for him. "I never thought they would go that far." Athos knew immediately that the young man was speaking of the betrayal he'd experienced at the hands of his brothers-in-arms. "I knew people were upset with me, and they made their anger obvious while I was being punished, but I never expected something like this."
Athos kept his face neutral at the allusion to d'Artagnan's week of punishment. Aramis and Porthos had stated that some members of the regiment had gone out of their way to make things more difficult for the young man, but hadn't been able to offer anything more than generalities and hearsay. To hear the Gascon confirm their suspicions about the other Musketeers' behaviours made his ire rise, and he had to willfully push it away. Taking a deep swallow of wine, he then placed the glass on the table and clasped his hands in his lap.
"d'Artagnan, what happened to you was wrong, no matter what reason those involved try to offer. We are soldiers, and more importantly, brothers-in-arms, and that requires trust; trust that the man beside you is watching your back, and is willing to do whatever is required in order to keep you safe. That means putting oneself after the needs of the Crown and those who stand beside you in the performance of your duty. It is clear through their actions that Paseur and Cellier have not learned this lesson."
The Gascon's chin hung low to his chest as he shook his head, unwilling to accept his mentor's words. "No, everything that happened, I brought on myself. My punishment was no less than I deserved."
"d'Artagnan," Athos voice was sharp as his anger over the situation melded with his worry over the young man. The Gascon's head snapped up abruptly at his mentor's tone, and the older man swallowed with difficulty at the reaction. Softening his voice, he began again. "d'Artagnan, this was a series of unfortunate mistakes – mistakes that you atoned for, and I understand that you completed your assigned punishment with diligence and honour. What Paseur and Cellier did, however…" The older man trailed off, still shaken at how close he'd come to losing the Gascon. "There is no honor in attacking from the shadows."
d'Artagnan observed his mentor closely, the man's final words spoken so softly, but with such deep emotion, that they had seemed to touch the Gascon's soul. The young man had believed that he'd been the only one affected by the two Musketeers' actions, but it seemed that those closest to him had also suffered, and it reminded him of another time when Athos had consoled him over several glasses of wine. "d'Artagnan, we are brothers. When one hurts, all of us hurt. When one bleeds, we all bleed." Then, just like now, his mentor's words of wisdom had provided comfort as well as insight into the brotherhood that he'd somehow managed to find himself a part of. It was, he reflected, his most prized possession.
The thought lingered for a moment before it was swiftly replaced by another - the memory of having his valued items ripped from him as he lay on the ground, beaten and helpless. He winced as he recalled his shame at being stripped of his pauldrons and weapons, unconsciously worrying his lower lip as his eyes dropped to his lap.
"d'Artagnan, are you alright?" Athos had watched as his earlier words had sunk in, lifting some of the doubt and worry that had sat so heavily on his protégé's shoulders for so long, but the effect had been fleeting. Moments later, the strong emotions seemed to return, once more threatening to crush the young man under their weight.
"I…" the Gascon paused as he tried to steady his voice. He could already feel moisture pricking his eyes as he recalled the pride that had shined in his father's eyes when he'd presented his son with the sword that had kept the younger d'Artagnan safe through so many skirmishes. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he said, "I just wish there was some way to get back the things they took from me."
With his gaze still cast downward, the young man missed the slight upturning of his mentor's lips as the man's eyes shifted towards a bundle propped against the side of the fireplace. Wordlessly, Athos rose and retrieved the cloth-wrapped packet, stepping in front of the Gascon and waiting until the young man looked up. "I believe these are yours," Athos said, handing him the parcel.
d'Artagnan's eyes were questioning, but the older man didn't offer an explanation, simply returning to his seat and indicating with a nod of his head to unwrap the bundle. The Gascon's hand trembled as he unrolled the sackcloth, revealing the three items that had been encased within. His eyes shone once more with tears as he looked over to Athos, a single word breathed out through barely parted lips. "How?"
"It seems that Paseur and Cellier were not only cowards, but stupid, as well. They thought it fitting to keep trophies of their revenge, and paid Filleul extra for these things to be brought to them. In this instance, I'm very glad they did," Athos stated, no longer able to keep the smile off his face.
d'Artagnan's gaze returned for a moment to the items sitting in his lap, running his fingers lightly over the etched pattern in his pauldron, and the cool steel of his sword and dagger. He'd thought them to be lost forever, and their return seemed to signal a change his fortunes, which had seemed for so long to be against him. Looking back up, he met his mentor's gaze, now wearing a matching expression to the older man's. "Thank you."
A/N: Thanks for your patience in waiting an extra day for this chapter. To show my appreciation, I have an unexpected surprise - this isn't the last chapter and there will be an epilogue posted tomorrow night. Thanks for reading and thanks, as always, to AZGirl for all her help.