A/N: Set post-series.
#16: Forced to Beg - Musketeers are a proud bunch, Gascons even more so. For his own life, d'Artagnan would rather die than beg for mercy. For Constance, on the other hand...
D'Artagnan pulled up his horse with a tug on the reins and a click of his teeth. He surveyed the path they were on, quickly taking in the stream nearby, the young forest with a ready supply of kindling for a fire. This would do. He turned to Constance and raised a questioning brow.
"Would you rather press on for the next town?" he asked. "Find an inn?"
Constance pulled up her own horse and gave him a light smile. "Might as well save the coin. We may have no choice but to find an inn on another night. It's three days yet to Paris."
D'Artagnan nodded, content and delighted with life itself. He was starting to suspect that Athos sent him on these week-long errands intentionally, knowing his wife would accompany him, giving the pair plenty of time to bask in each other's company.
Leaning over to give Constance a peck on the cheek, d'Artagnan then slid off the horse and handed her the reins as she dismounted as well.
"I'll get a fire going," he said, already turning for the forest.
The musketeer took his time gathering smaller sticks for kindling, larger branches for fuel. A few yards off, he spotted a burst of color and headed closer to find a little patch of wildflowers. D'Artagnan smiled. Abandoning the wood, he reached down to pluck one from its tender stem to give to Constance.
"D'Artagnan! Run-"
The scream drove all thoughts of flowers or fire from his mind, all rational thought save one: Constance! D'Artagnan's sword was already in his hand as he sprinted back to the clearing where he'd left her, then stumbled to a stop at the sight of a stranger with one hand over her mouth and the other holding a knife against her stomach.
"Ah ah," the man said, shaking his head with a pleased smirk. "Sword. Drop it."
D'Artagnan looked to either side, noting three more men closing in on him from both flanks. He seethed at having been taken off guard—what sort of musketeer was he, not to have spotted any company? The group of bandits were well armed, though, pistols pointed in his direction, but more importantly he couldn't even think of fighting them unless they let go of Constance. With no other avenue, d'Artagnan slowly dropped his sword. At the gesture of the other man, he held his arms up.
"What do you want?" he spat out. "You're making a mistake."
"That's what they all say," the man sighed. He nodded to the other bandits, who closed in on d'Artagnan. One by one, all of his weapons were found and removed.
Keeping his eyes on Constance, who tried to twist away from her captor, d'Artagnan could only hold still as his arms were then pulled behind his back and lashed together.
"Hold still, love," the bandit holding Constance warned her, pressing his lips to her temple. She writhed harder at that, snapping something into the hand over her mouth, but it only made him chuckle. "She's a feisty one. You're a lucky man, monsieur."
"You touch her again, and I'll kill you where you stand," d'Artagnan seethed, furiously shouldering aside the man who'd been trying to push him forward. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."
The bandit raised an eyebrow, smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Quite an arrogant man, for one," he tutted. "Musketeer by the look of that pauldron. Most importantly, a trespasser. See, we've claimed this stretch of woods. If you want to go through, you have to pay a toll. We'll be having the horses and everything in the bags, for one."
"Like hell you will," d'Artagnan shouted, leaping towards the man, wanting nothing but to knock him away from his wife, but he was swiftly grabbed by the remaining group of bandits.
"Now see," the leader said, "that's just rude, when we've asked so nicely. And it's upped the price, I'm afraid."
"And I'll ask again, what do you want?"
The bandit nodded to the men holding d'Artagnan, who wrestled him down to his knees. Then he gestured one of them over, who pulled Constance away from him to hold tightly against himself instead. The leader stalked forward, standing over the musketeer.
"I want you," he said slowly, "to beg for mercy."
D'Artagnan barked in laughter. "I don't think so," he retorted with a cold smirk.
The leader shrugged and drew a pistol. He pointed it first at d'Artagnan, who only sneered up at him. He was a musketeer and he didn't beg, not for anything- then the pistol spun to point at Constance instead and d'Artagnan gasped, throwing himself desperately against the hands restraining him.
"No!" he cried. "Don't!"
"Oh, I think you can do better than that," the leader snorted. "Proud lad like you. I want some actual begging. Grovel a little. You might even kiss my boots. Depends how badly you want the little lady to survive."
"D'Artagnan, tell him to-" Constance was cut off again by a hand over her mouth.
The leader cocked the pistol, then smiled down at d'Artagnan expectantly.
He swallowed through a dry mouth. "Please," he whispered, looking at Constance. "Please, don't. Let her go."
"Mm. Not good enough."
"Please!" d'Artagnan cried. "Please. Monsieur, please... I'm begging you, don't hurt her. Please don't. I- I beg you."
The leader stuck one foot forward, grinning, and the hands on d'Artagnan's shoulders let go. The musketeer stared at him incredulously, but it appeared the man was serious. D'Artagnan was nearly vibrating with rage, face flushing with heat, but he couldn't let anything happen to Constance, not when the only thing standing between her and safety was his pride. It took everything he had, but slowly, d'Artagnan leaned over, trying not to fall on his face with his hands bound. Silently swearing death on every single man there, he set his lips disgustedly to the man's boot in a quick, angry kiss, and then swiftly straightened back up.
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" the bandit asked cheerfully as the others snickered among themselves, ignoring d'Artagnan's silent fuming. "Very well, we'll consider the toll paid... for the little lady. Get him up, lads, we'll take him along as well."
"Wait!" Constance cried as she was released. She ran straight for the bandit and pummeled his arm with her fist. "Let him go!"
"Sorry, lass, as it turns out, I do know who I'm dealing with. The musketeer's worth some money if France wants him back unharmed." He turned to the others and waved a hand. "Take everything."
"Not Constance," d'Artagnan quickly pressed, forcing himself to keep a clear head in spite of his fury. He looked at his wife. "Please... she's just a helpless woman. Leave her here, she can't do any harm to anyone."
The bandit patted d'Artagnan's cheek and grinned. "Only since you asked so nicely," he replied. "Now start walking."
Trading one last look with Constance, d'Artagnan had no choice but to let the bandits lead him away, along with all of their supplies, their horses, their weapons, leaving Constance behind with nothing in the growing twilight.
By the time they had walked for nearly half an hour by d'Artagnan's reckoning, night had fallen and the bandits finally stopped to make camp. The musketeer found himself shoved roughly to the ground at the base of a tree, hands released only long enough to be pulled around the trunk behind him and refastened, while the other men started a fire. One of them started walking a wide circle around the campsite, presumably to watch the perimeter. D'Artagnan smiled... And waited.
The guard never came back.
Seconds later, a pistol shot cracked out in the darkness and one of the other bandits slumped over in his seat in the fire. Now there was only the leader and one other, both of whom leaped to their feet with swords drawn.
"Hugo!" the leader shouted.
A furious figure stormed into the camp, but it wasn't the lookout. Constance had taken her first victim's sword, pointing it at the two with stony intensity as she strode straight up to the fire and swung with a shout. One of the men leaped forward to meet the attack, the swords clashing over the flames to scatter sparks up into the air. The bandit leader, on the other hand, spun around and made a beeline for d'Artagnan.
The musketeer smirked back at him and jumped to his feet as he finally worked his wrists free, just in time to duck under the bandit's sword and level a punch to his gut that would have made Porthos proud.
"Told you you had no idea who you were dealing with," d'Artagnan growled as he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his skull into the tree. "You might have known you had a musketeer. But you never figured on Constance." Slamming the man into the tree once again, d'Artagnan dropped the now lifeless body to the ground and grabbed the fallen sword. He turned in time to see his wife driving the final bandit back towards the fire, shrieking with each of her strikes.
"Give! Me! Back! My! Husband!"
D'Artagnan had one brief second of utterly divine pleasure at the look of extraordinary shock on the man's face before the bandit tripped over the pile of firewood, straight into the fire. He only had time for one scream of pain before Constance hefted her sword in a two handed grip and plunged it through his middle, snuffing him out.
The musketeer grimaced at the smell of burning flesh and hurried over to drag the body out of the flames.
"Constance," he gasped, dropping the stolen sword to cup her face and tilt it towards the firelight, looking for any signs of injury. Seeing none, d'Artagnan pulled her in tightly against him, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead and closing his eyes.
"I'm alright," she assured him, though made no move to press away. Constance nestled in closer to him. "I'm alright, d'Artagnan. Did they hurt you?"
He shook his head against hers. "Just with the thought of losing you," he whispered.
"Your helpless woman?" Her voice was light and teasing, and when d'Artagnan lifted his head to look at her, her eyes were dancing.
With a soft snort of laughter, d'Artagnan carefully brushed his thumb over her cheek, then leaned in to hold her against him some more. "You, madame," he whispered, dusting her hair with kisses. "Have never been helpless a day in your life."
A hand reached up to cup his face and Constance smiled up at him through her lashes. "There's nothing you wouldn't do for me, is there."
It wasn't spoken as a question, and it wasn't a question.
Nothing. Beg, fight, die, live. There was absolutely nothing d'Artagnan wouldn't do.