I was asked in pm's if there would be any explanation of how they finally found Aramis and rescued him from his kidnappers. I apologize for leaving that out, and here it is. I really appreciate reviews, pm's and when you follow my story. I have always wanted to write, and fanfiction had realized that dream of mine. Thank you for all your kind words!
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Porthos sat between his two injured brothers, keeping watch while d'Artagnan got a little sleep. When is this going to ever end, he thought to himself in frustration.
Aramis was just beginning to heal, and stop having the nightmares and fear. Would it all begin again? He is the kindest, most generous man I have ever known, he thought, and to have this happen to him? Why? Glancing over at Athos, his thoughts were of how close he had come to being killed trying to protect their brother. A little to the left, and the dagger could have pierced his heart.
Their lives quite often involved saving people's lives, and to have nearly been killed themselves by a group of raving maniacs angered the big man. If I ever...he stopped. When I get my hands on them, he amended his thoughts, they are going to wish they had never harmed my brothers!
Aramis moved restlessly in his sleep. Probably having one of the nightmares that had tormented him since they had brought him back, thought Porthos, rubbing soft circles on the back of the hand he held, trying to let his brother know he was safe with his brothers. It seemed to work, as Aramis quieted again, and let out a soft little sigh. Porthos smiled to himself. Ever the one who needed the touch of a friend, he mused.
It was quite often his dearest friend who gave that attention to each of them, sometimes when they were lying helpless in a bed as he himself was now. How often had he pulled one or another of his brothers back from the brink of death? How often had his deadly accurate aim with a pistol or musket saved their lives? And he was nearly as deadly with a rapier or a main gauche, as well.
To have been kidnapped off the street,as they believe he was, and then to have been so cruelly tormented and for so long caused a growl of anger from the big man.
He remembered the day the young girl had hesitantly come through the gates of the garrison, fear in her movements. Looking around, the only people she had seen had been he, d'Artagnan and Athos, sitting at their table with their breakfast before them, not really eating it but picking away at the edges in their despair.
Walking slowly towards them, she stopped a few feet away and asked, "Please, monsieurs, I need to talk to a Musketeer?"
Athos had risen and gone over to her, his brothers following right behind. "We are Musketeers, mademoiselle. How may we assist you?"
The girl had looked at each one of them, then slowly said, "I...I saw...", then stopped, as if she couldn't go on, that she was deathly afraid of something...or someone.
"What did you see?" Athos continued, in the same soft voice, trying to let the girl know she didn't have anything to fear from them.
Hesitating again, she took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out of her as fast as she could speak once she began. "I saw them men walking past our house. I heard them. I was hanging my ma's washing in the yard. They said...they said they was gonna kill a Musketeer."
Whatever they could have imagined, it hadn't been this. Was this the long-awaited clue they needed, hoped for?
Athos knew he had to be as gentle as he could with this skittish young girl. The men she had seen and what she had heard had obviously terrified her. "Could you show us where you live, and where the men were when they walked by, please?"
He could see that she was getting more scared now. "Our friend has been missing for a month. We have not been able to find him. We feared he was dead. We love him very much. He is our brother. You have given us hope again, and we thank you for will not let anyone see you taking us there, and once we know which house it is, we want you to leave us and go back to your home. We only need to know which house. Can you do that for us, please?"
She was silent for so long they began to fear she was too scared to help them. Then, looking up at them again, she said very quietly, "I love my little brother, too. If something happened to him, I would want to help him. I...I will take you."
They each leaned down and gave her a little kiss on either cheek, thanking her. They told her to wait just a moment, and Porthos and d'Artagnan went and got their weapons. Athos stayed with her, as they were still not positive that her fear might not get the best of her yet.
Her eyes got big and round when she saw the rapiers, pistols and knives that they put on their persons, but didn't say a word. She turned around and headed for the gate, the Musketeers close behind.
They walked quite a distance, heading in the direction of the southern edges of Paris. When she finally stopped and pointed, they could see that not very much further on and they would have passed the outskirts of the city.
They thanked the girl, and asked her to go home and stay out of sight. She picked up her ragged skirts and ran. They marked which house she had gone into, because they fully intended to come back and thank her profusely again if Aramis was inside of the building ahead of them.
They realized they should have brought reinforcements, as they had no idea who they were dealing with or how many of them there were. But it was too late now. They had to move quickly, hoping against hope that Aramis was indeed inside.
They moved silently up to the house, weapons now drawn. Knocking on the door, there was no answer, just the continued silence.
Athos slowly pushed open the door that was ajar, moving inside, followed by his brothers.
No lights were lit inside, and all was still. Where had the kidnappers gone? They didn't think they had been tricked by the girl, so the men must have gone out on business of some kind. Where was Aramis? was their panicked thought.
Moving further into the room, they could smell wood smoke, which indicated that someone had been there recently. They decided against lighting any of thd lanterns laying next to the door, in case the occupants came back and the lights alerted them they were there. Instead, d'Artagnan brought along two of them as they searched.
It wasn't more than a few minutes into their search that they discovered a heavily bolted door in the back of the house. Looking silently at each other with a little hope in their eyes now, Porthos flipped his pistol and slammed it down on the bolt, shattering it. Opening the door, they could see nothing as it was pitch black with cold air rising from the depths of the darkness.
D'Artagnan now lit the two lanterns, handing one to Athos, and keeping the other for himself. Lifting them high above their heads, they saw an old rickety staircase. Athos led the way, as he and Porthos began their descent into the inky darkness. D'Artagnan stayed at the doorway to keep an eye out for anyone returning.
They saw no sign of Aramis when they reached the bottom of the staircase, but what the lantern lights revealed caused them to freeze. On the walls, various things were hung up: whips, knives, pistols, pokers and a noose. They looked at each other with renewed panic in their eyes now, and splitting up, began to explore the cavernous cellar.
It was Athos who first saw something. A nearly naked body was lying unmoving facing the wall, his arms and legs bound. Even from where he stood, he recognized his brother's curly dark hair. "Aramis!" he called. Nearly dropping his lantern in his haste, he ran to his brother's side. Porthos, who had been alerted by his call, was right on his heels.
Dropping to their knees next to their brother, they looked with horror on his obviously tortured body. His back had been flogged badly. Athos, reaching out a shaking hand, laid two fingers gently against Aramis' neck, feeling for a pulse. At first, there was nothing.
"No!" he said, in a voice barely above a whisper, trying again. It took a few heart-stopping moments, but then..."He is alive!" They all started to breathe again, not really realizing til then that they had stopped for a moment.
Porthos, without a word, drew his main gauche and tried to cut the ropes. They were so tight he had to cut from the outside in, working as delicately as he could so as not to cut his skin.
Turning him over gently, they hissed when they saw his face. Both eyes were blackened and swollen shut, and a myriad of bruises mottled his skin. But it was the muzzle that caused all three of them to swear profusely. Again, it was Porthos who set to work to free his brother of the evil contraption, using the lock picks he always carried with him.
But even as the muzzle was finally lifted off of him, they swore again. He had been gagged, as well. What kind of monsters were they dealing with? Athos could practically feel Porthos' rage simmering, the same rage he himself was trying to contain.
As Porthos had been working, Athos sadly examined the rest of Aramis' body. He was severely emaciated, and his skin was very dry, indicating that he had been receiving very little nourishment. His body was riddled with bad bruising, cuts-some deep and some shallower, gashes and burns. They had no idea what he had been burned with, but there were differences in shape of some of them, so obviously more than one implement had been used. The fingers on his hands were in bad shape, too, some broken, some with fingernails missing.
Athos spoke, saying, "We need to get him out of here before they come back. Taking care of his wounds will have to wait until we get him to the garrison," taking off his cloak as he spoke, and laying it flat on the ground.
Porthos, with a gentleness that belied his massive size, gathered his brother's broken body and lifted him onto the cloak. Wrapping it around him, he again lifted him, cradling him against his body protectively.
Athos led the way across the cellar, and then up the stairs to rejoin d'Artagnan, who asked quietly, "How bad?". Athos didn't trust himself to speak about it yet, so he just shook his head. Reaching the main floor, they cautiously approached the front door, looking through the window first to make sure the coast was clear before exiting the house.
Their one intent was to get their brother back to the garrison as quickly as possible. They didn't even realize the imposing image they presented to the townspeople they passed. They walked three abreast, Porthos in the middle carrying their precious burden. They moved swiftly, Athos and d'Artagnan holding their drawn pistols at their sides, watchful only of any threat that might present itself, not seeing the shocked and fearful looks thrown their way by shopkeepers, women going about their daily chores, and children playing in the streets. Once they came through the garrison gates, their vigilance relaxed within the walls.
Treville had come down the steps two at a time, already giving orders to find a doctor, and leading them into the infirmary.
Back in the present, remembering finding their brother had brought tears to Porthos' eyes. He felt a hand on his, and looking up, found Athos awake and aware of the turmoil in his friend's eyes. They had all relived their pain and fears many times over the past weeks, and they were acutely aware of each other's feelings.
"He has gone through so much, Athos, and the nightmares just won't leave him alone. He needs the rest, and..."
"He is going to make it, Porthos. This was only a temporary setback. He is healing. We have to give him time to get over the nightmares. We only have one group to contend with now, too. Those farmers will rue the day they ever tangled with us, I promise you that."
An unexpected voice, still sounding sleepy, spoke up. "I am healing, Porthos. I am sorry I have given you all such a painful burden to go through. I..."
Porthos and Athos both stopped him, their hands softly coming to rest on his shoulders, love for their brother shining in their eyes. Athos spoke softly, "You are never a burden, Aramis. You are our brother. We love you. What happened to you happened to us, as well. We are healing together."