"He should have been back by now," Adelina gritted from between clenched teeth. Athos nodded tiredly, running a hand over his face.
His heart thumped a steady rhythm of anxiety in his chest, fueled by the ever-present fear that he had let Aramis down once more. He had abandoned him.
Again.
It had been a full day since he had last seen him, Athos and D'Artagnan stumbling into the Garrison in the wee hours of the morning. Porthos had welcomed them with enthusiastic relief, rushing him to the physician whilst Constance eagerly checked over her own husband. Adelina had stood by, arms crossed, as Athos was force fed some awful concoction that had sent him into a deep sleep for the reminder of the day.
He had woken only to discover that it was nearly mid-morning and Aramis had yet to return. He sighed, placing his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands.
His command over the Garrison had been restored when he woke, but he could hardly focus on the numerous tasks required of him.
Athos fairly jumped out of his skin when Porthos set heavy hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the still sore muscles. Having hung by the arms for several hours made the joints sear with pain whenever he moved.
D'Artagnan, likewise, sat in the seat across from him rubbing his sleep-crusted eyes. He looked much better than he had the day before, and the swelling around his knee had ebbed away, leaving only minute discomfort, D'Artagnan claimed.
Athos had known his old protégé too long to believe that lie, but he let it go in light of larger problems.
"We should go look for him," Constance said, determinedly. She stood behind D'Artagnan. Their hands were linked in a silent show of support.
"We know where the chateau is," Treveille agreed from his post by Athos's window, gazing down into the courtyard below.
His expression was grave and weary in the light. "But the fact remains that the Spanish Emissary is missing," he groaned.
"Who cares?" Adelina snorted at once. She was pacing the small space, brows scrunched into a thunderous line of discontent.
Porthos said she had been that way all day, performing her duties as commander of the spies and assassins with brutal efficiency that bespoke of deep concern. "My brother is missing."
"I'm sure we can do both," Sylvie broke in before Treveille could scold Adelina for the outburst. In truth, Athos was thankful that she, at least, was speaking the words none of them would say.
"You said there was another man with Miguel," Elodie reminded Athos, touching his shoulder. He looked up into steely but compassionate eyes. "Did you see him?"
Athos shook his head. "No," he groaned. "We only heard them speaking through the door. I saw flashes of color, perhaps. He was wearing blue, I think," he said.
"Like the blue of Aramis's sash," D'Artagnan added.
"And Miguel didn't mention anything that sounded like a name?" Adelina urged.
"They were very cautious. They must have known we could have been listening," Athos's fists clenched in his lap. He shook them out, agitated, and tore at his hair. "I can't believe I left him. Again," he groaned. Porthos knelt by his side and Athos stiffened, preparing himself for condemnation.
He was shocked when Porthos did no such thing. "Don't blame yourself, Thos," he murmured. "It was the only way you and D'Artagnan were gonna escape. Besides, we can't give up on him yet. He promised us all he'd be back," Athos's head snapped up, astonished at the genuine forgiveness in Porthos's voice. Likewise, Porthos's eyes only held sincerity.
Athos only shook his head, overcome with emotion. His own words from years earlier echoed in his mind. "If he dies, I'll never forgive myself."
And he hadn't, nor had he ever learned how to carry the guilt of Aramis's death without pain. Why would he risk doing it again? He bowed his head, exhaled a shuddering breath.
Sylvie knelt on his other side, her calm presence soothing his frayed nerves. She set a hand on his knee. "How's the head?" She inquired softly, gently touching the mass of swollen flesh beneath his eyes. Above them, Adelina, Treveille and Elodie were still arguing over the priorities of who was going to be rescued.
"Your spies can look for Aramis. I need the rest of you here."
"I don't trust anyone else to take care of Rene! I'm going myself!"
"I'll feel better when Aramis is safe," Athos breathed, patting her hand. He straightened in his seat, shoving his fear and guilt to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford the emotion right now. Aramis needed him, and he would not fail a second time.
Adelina looked ready to charge up to Treveille and shoot him in the knee. Athos very much feared she might. Porthos stood. "I'm going after Rene! His Majesty the King can wait!" She snapped.
"Or," Sylvie cried. "We can go after them separately. What's the emissaries' name, Minister?" Treveille flashed her an irritated glance, not in the least bit fooled, but sighed.
"Alejandro," he replied. "Alejandro Andreas," Adelina suddenly halted, her expression morphing into horror. She swiveled around to stick Treveille with a shocked look. Elodie scrambled to her feet, also gazing at him with newfound alarm.
"What did you just say?" She demanded.
Treveille, taken aback by her ferocity, blinked. "Alejandro Andreas. Why?" He asked.
"Have you seen him? What does he look like?" Elodie asked, as Adelina's face crumpled. She looked as if someone had just spit in her face. Athos's stomach flipped. He had never seen the young woman look so… Fearful.
"Of course. I greeted him when he arrived. He has a thin face, tanned skin, large eyes… Come to think of it, he reminds me of Aramis…" Athos exchanged a glance with Porthos, wonderingly.
While it wasn't logically unreasonable that a Spanish emissary should resemble their half Spanish friend, something about Adelina's expression made Athos's heart jump.
"No," Adelina breathed. Elodie rushed to her side, gripped her hand tightly.
"Do you think its…?" She demanded.
"We have to go!" Adelina burst out, snatching Athos's pistol from the desk. She shoved it into his arms, eyes wide and frenzied. Athos stood, along with D'Artagnan. "We have to find Rene right now!"
"Adelina!" Constance gasped, grabbing the younger woman by the arm. "What is it? What are you…?"
"We have to go," Adelina repeated, emphatically. She looked up, her gaze pleading. "If we don't, that man will kill him. Do you hear me? We have to find him, if Alejo hasn't already," Athos gasped, moving before she had even finished the sentence.
"I don't understand," Treveille stated. "Why would an emissary….?" Before he could finish, Athos heard stomping along the stairs.
He looked up, shocked, as the door slammed open and Aramis fairly dove inside, stumbling to his knees.
"Mis?" D'Artagnan gasped, astounded. Athos remained rooted to his place, shocked to his core. There were tears streaming down Aramis's face, his breath staggering from his mouth in desperate gasps such as Athos had never heard or seen. His hair had come loose from its ponytail, flying wildly about his face. His shirt front was ripped, exposing a chest darkened with bruises and cuts.
Small rivulets of blood ran down his shoulders, thighs, neck. But the most shocking of all were his eyes- blown wide with terror. Athos realized he had seen fear on Aramis before, in battle fear was a stalwart companion, but never… Never like this. This was frantic, desperate, paralyzing terror and it didn't belong to a man like Aramis. Constance and Sylvie gasped.
"Aramis!?" Porthos asked, sounding almost as frightened as Athos felt. Aramis didn't seem to hear him. He landed, hard, on the floor.
He had an arm wrapped about his middle as he half crawled, half dragged himself to the furthest end of the room, eyes glued to the doorway. His expression was one of complete agony.
Adelina rushed to his side, trying to kneel in front of him. "Rene!?" She called. She reached out to grab his shoulder, but the gentle touch made him jump and cry out, scrambling away from her right into Porthos, who fell to his knees at once.
Porthos caught Aramis by the shoulders, holding him in place anxiously.
"No!" Aramis shrieked. "Alejo, por favor deje de. Lo Siento. Lo siento! Por favor, hermano!" He cried, thrashing in Porthos's grip. Athos looked up, met Treveille's astonished gaze.
"Mis!" Porthos called, struggling to keep him still. "Aramis, it's me! I've got you, Aramis. You're safe!"
Adelina rounded to kneel in front of Aramis, cupping his chin and swiping his tears with her thumbs. "Rene. Aramis! Soy yo. Estoy Aqui!" She said. Aramis did not relent. He only flinched away from her as if burned by her touch, sobbing.
"Por favor… Por favor deje de…"
Porthos lowered his mouth to their brother's ear, locking his arms around Aramis. "Aramis," he whispered calmly. "Wherever you are, it's over. I've got you. I'm here, Aramis."
The whispered assurance seemed to do the trick. Aramis abruptly stilled, his eyes clearing of their deep panic. He turned his head, blinked at Porthos as if waking from a long nightmare. "P-Porthos?" he stammered.
Porthos nodded and let out an explosive sigh of relief. "You tryin to give me heart attacks?" He demanded of Aramis. The other man merely swiveled in his grasp, throwing his arms around Porthos and hiding his face in the crook of his neck, babbling something incoherent.
Athos ungracefully stood, flinging his chair to the side and launching himself over his desk. D'Artagnan was already kneeling on Aramis's right side.
Porthos had already dwarfed Aramis in his arms, brows creased with concern. "What? Aramis, I can't hear you. What is it? Are you… Did someone stab you!?" Porthos voice grew higher at each question, lifting a shaking hand.
Athos's heart stopped when he saw it was covered with blood. Porthos at once started sifting through Aramis's hair and clothes, searching for the wound. D'Artagnan instantly tore strips from his shirt, offering the makeshift bandages without word.
Above them, Adelina was doing the same, and Sylvie had already started rummaging in Athos's drawers for the sewing kit. "What the 'ell!? Who did this to you?" Porthos cried, as Aramis fairly curled into his chest, knees pulled tight against his body and arms wrapped so tightly around Porthos's neck Athos was surprised he was not strangling him.
His words came out muffled. "Don't… Don't let them… I can't go back. Please, Porthos," he pleaded nonsensically. Athos's heart clenched. He had never heard Aramis beg before. The very idea was ludicrous.
Whoever did this was going to die.
"Hey, hey," Porthos breathed, stopping mid examination to run a hand through Aramis's thick curls. "It's alright. No one is going to hurt you, Aramis. I won't let them," he growled protectively.
Aramis just shook his head, shivering. Athos opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, two figures appeared in the doorway. One was wearing the seal of the Spanish Court, the deep blue of sovereignty.
When Aramis heard the door, he flinched violently, a whimper escaping.
Athos knew, with painful clarity, that these men had been the ones to torture Aramis. D'Artagnan had evidently come to the same conclusion. The Gascon drew his sword with a cry of rage.
"YOU!" He roared, surging to his feet. He leveled the weapon at Miguel threateningly. "You son of a bitch! What did you do to Aramis!?" He demanded. Athos saw red, and before he knew it, he was standing with a pistol in hand. He leveled it in the face of the man beside Miguel, ignoring Treveille's gasp of surprise at his daring.
"Take a single step toward him," Athos warned. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, waves of fury making his blood boil. "And I will put a bullet in your head," his finger tensed on the trigger.
The man next to Miguel didn't flinch. He met Athos's eyes. "If you harm me, Monsieur Athos, you will be hanged."
"Then I will die smiling."
"Athos," Aramis's choked voice begged at his back. "Athos, no."
Athos narrowed his eyes. Treveille suddenly stepped between them, his hands raised pacifically. He felt warm bodies take up position behind him and knew that Constance and Sylvie had also drawn or found weapons, an invincible bulwark between Miguel and Aramis. "Emissary Alejandro," Treveille began, looking toward the man to Miguel's right. "You're standing next to a wanted criminal," Athos scoffed.
"I am," Alejandro agreed. "And you've been harboring a wanted criminal for weeks now, Minister. Does your King know about that, I wonder?"
"Aramis is a Musketeer."
Alejandro guffawed. "Aramis is the renowned Rene, El francotirador. And that," he jabbed a finger at Adelina. "Is Sombra, his shadow. Otherwise known as Adelina. They're assassins. They murdered the Spanish minister," Alejandro said, with perfect serenity.
Athos stared, heart thundering. D'Artagnan's blade inched closer to Miguel, who had not stopped staring at Aramis since he arrived.
Adelina elbowed her way past them, Elodie at her heels. "I should kill you where you stand, cerdo!" She hissed. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"
"I'm here to retrieve my brothers," Alejandro replied. His eyes focused on Aramis, shuddering in Porthos's arms in the back of the room. "All of them," a shiver went up Athos's spine.
"You're not going anywhere near him!" D'Artagnan declared. "A single shout and the entire Garrison will be in here," he threatened.
Alejandro didn't seem at all intimidated. He snickered instead, leaning forward so that his forehead was level with D'Artagnan's blade. "And then France will never see peace. Is that what you want, Musketeer? To go back to war?" Athos heard Constance growl behind him.
"Why are you here?" Treveille interrupted darkly.
"To give you the chance to say goodbye," Miguel piped in. "Alejandro has secured a deal in the peace provisions of France. Peace comes, but only after Rene is given to the Spanish government to pay for his crimes," Adelina gasped.
"Never!" She hissed in unison to Porthos.
"I'm afraid the choice isn't yours, senorita. Don't fret. We'll come for you next. Aramis," Alejandro raised his voice, clearly addressing their brother. Athos heard Aramis's feet scrape the ground as he tried to shy away from the malicious gaze.
"You're not takin 'im!" Porthos barked. "I don't care what provision you added. You'll never lay a finger on him!"
Alejandro ignored him. "Get your things in order now. You always knew this day was coming, hermano," Alejandro's eyes glinted with pure hatred, and Athos inhaled a sharp breath. "You always knew your days were numbered."
Aramis sobbed. "No… No, please…"
With that, Alejandro swiveled on his heels and calmly walked down the halls. Miguel started after him, but a soft voice halted him.
Athos looked down to see Aramis staring after the other man, one hand outstretched as if to grab him and yank him back. "Lucero… Brother, please…"
Brother?
Miguel shook his head. "You had your chance, Aramis, and you chose wrong. Your reckoning has come," and with that he followed after Alejandro as silently as a fox.
When he had vanished from the doorway, Adelina, D'Artagnan and Athos moved as one. All three of them sprinted across the room, where Porthos was frantically trying to calm a desperate Aramis.
"Rene," Adelina murmured. "Rene, it's alright. We'll get this figured out. I won't let them harm you, hermano, I promise. They won't ever hurt you again," she shushed him, stroking his hair.
Aramis just shook his head. "They'll come for me. They'll take me away," he wept.
Athos placed a hand on Aramis's shoulder, heart aching when he flinched away. "Look at me, Aramis," he commanded. Aramis did so, looking over his shoulder as if afraid he would be slapped if he didn't.
His eyes shone with such fear that Athos swore, in the deepest recesses of his heart, to see those two men dead for whatever they had done.
"No, they won't. No one will ever take you from us again. I swear it on my brother's grave," he said. Aramis just retreated into the safety of Porthos's arms.
"I swear it on my father's," D'Artagnan added, throwing his hand on top of Athos's.
"I swear it on my mother's," Porthos added grimly, squeezing Aramis to his side. Aramis stared at them as if he couldn't quite believe they were real. Then, after a moment, he went limp, eyes falling ashamedly.
"I want to come home," he whispered. "I want to come home."
"You can. You will, Aramis," Porthos promised him, kissing his wild curls. "Don't you worry. You're our brother and we'll protect you no matter what, alright? No matter what."
And to the men that would take you, Athos amended in his own mind as he patted Aramis on the shoulders and back. I will either kill them or go to Hell trying.