A/N: Maybe it's this tumultuous world or the hell that is 2020 but I'm deeply enjoying a return to this collection. Whumptober 2020 continues with a two-for-one fill:

Prompt #2 - Pick Who Dies

Prompt #3 - Forced to Their Knees

The shot rang out above the din of the rest of their fighting, echoing in the cavernous space like a church bell taking its last strike. Porthos went down hard and Athos surged forward only to be overwhelmed by a half dozen men. His weapons were wrenched from his hands and they managed to get his arms behind him and push him forward.

His gaze raked the room for his comrades. They had D'Artagnan, subdued by two men with a knife to his throat. Two others dragged Aramis out of the shadows of the vestry, his hands bound with thick rope and a dirty gag in his mouth. He was bruised as if he had given them a fight but two days of captivity had done Aramis little good. He stumbled as they pulled him forward and Athos could see he was exhausted and in pain. He wondered if Aramis even knew what was going on.

"Check 'im," one of Aramis's captors said with a nod. One of the men holding Athos peeled off to approach Porthos, lying motionless where the musket ball had dropped him. The man gave Porthos a swift kick to the side and not even a groan came from the felled musketeer.

Aramis stiffened and struggled ineffectively against his captors as D'Artagnan cried out, unable to suppress his grief. Rage bloomed in Athos and he kicked out at one of his captors, catching him hard in the knee even as he wrestled free of their hold. He delivered a hard blow to the throat and dropped another and then grabbed someone rushing him with a drawn pistol. He caught the attacker and pulled the man's hand, along with the pistol it was holding, to his temple. The man struggled, but Athos had him. He drew his hostage's sword and using the man as a shield kept the other at bay.

"Bravo, so brave," her voice rang out from the darkness before emerging from the shadows behind D'Artagnan, "But this is over, Athos," she added, raising her pistol and placing it against D'Artagnan's temple, "Drop your weapons."

"Athos, no!" D'Artagnan shouted. She gave Athos a cold smile while one of her men shoved a rag into D'Artagnan's mouth. Athos's eyes met hers in challenge. Whatever was between them, she had a fascination now with D'Artagnan. She wouldn't kill him, she couldn't. As if reading Athos's mind, she cocked the pistol.

"Should I kill another one?" she sounded like she was serving him another helping at supper.

Athos dropped the pistol and sword and shoved the man he was holding, sending him stumbling into his comrades. Crying out, the men rushed him.

"Stop!" her voice full of disgust, "Idiots. He's done. Just pick up your weapons." They grumbled, but they obeyed her.

She approached him, the pistol pointed at him now. Athos ignored D'Artagnan's muffled protests behind the gag, avoided Aramis's anguished gaze, and focused solely on her - the curve of the green velvet dress she preferred, the rustle of her skirt brushing the flagstones of the church, the dark brilliance in her eyes. He knew her, every inch of her, and while he would never show it, he knew enough to be afraid for the first time since this entire ordeal began. It was a game to her- taking Aramis, leading them on a crazy chase, maneuvering to get what she wanted. It was a game and Athos felt himself losing.

"Where's the letter?" she demanded.

"I don't have it," Athos replied. She rolled her eyes.

"Search him," she ordered and her men grabbed him, running hands none too gently over him. He endured it, given her no reason to threaten the other two musketeers again. She closed the gap between them, tucking the pistol into the belt of her dress. Two of her men grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back.

"You know I'm going to find it," she smiled up at him as she started undoing the buckles of his doublet. He inhaled, catching the smell of her perfume and the scent of her sweat in his nostrils. His mind flashed back to the estate, the rough and tumble nights where she had done just this, stripped him of his armor - of everything - and bared his very soul to her. She must have remembered it too because he felt something change in the air between them, heard her draw a steadying breath. He met her urgent gaze as her hands moved down his chest on their own accord, releasing the last of the clasps.

The men holding him pulled the leather armor from his arms. "Search for pockets," she ordered, "Athos likes to keep secrets."

"Here," one of the men called out, standing with a letter he had pulled from an interior pocket in the lining of Athos's coat. She dropped her hand from him and moved to her men, taking the letter. Drawing her dagger, she slipped it under the seal and skimmed it quickly. Her smile was triumphant as she turned to him, arms extending as if to embrace the world.

"All of this," she said, taking in the destruction she had wrought, "simply for a piece of parchment. I knew you would not trade it even for your pet priest," she gloated, waving the paper toward Aramis who only was on his feet thanks to the men holding him up, "but don't you wish you had now?"

She handed the letter to one of the men.

"They will find the Austrian princess quartered secretly in the King's lodge at Versaille," she said, "Tell the mercenaries to approach from the fields, they will not expect it." The man gave a nod and started to leave, "And tell our mutual friend he is in my debt now," she added. The man gave a half bow and left the church, some of the men following him.

She turned back to Athos, her gaze soft, almost wistful. She changed her moods like the wind and Athos had to question if she was not in fact insane.

"Bind him," she ordered and Athos's hands were pulled behind his back, a coarse rope looped over his wrists. So much damage between the two of them and it had come again to death. He couldn't help but look at Porthos on the floor. The big musketeer was lifeless, not one finger had twitched in a secret sign to any of them. He felt grief surge in his heart.

"How many musketeers walk out of here depends entirely on you," she purred, bringing his attention back to her.

"Anne," his anguish drew her name from his lips.

"I gave up that name long ago," she said, her tone wistful, " Shortly after you gave up yours, my Comte. Athos - the mountain. The strength." she laughed, "You are weak and you always have been. Right here," she breathed, placing the point of her blade over his heart, "This is your soft spot. This is why you are here now. But it's why I am here now too, isn't it?" Her smile was feral.

"Enough, this does not involve them," Athos said. Dying at her hands might have always been his fate, but it should not be that of the others.

"It most certainly does," she flicked her eyes over him as if taking in his full measure before deciding what she would do next. She had always been calculating but it was strange for Athos to recognize it so readily now. "What will you do for them, Athos," his name like a curse on her lips, "that you would not do for me?" She dragged the blade gently over his lips, " Bring them," she commanded and the men holding Aramis and D'Artagnan shuffled them closer.

D'Artagnan was all tension and fire but restrained as he was between two men, a knife tucked neatly under his chin, he could do nothing but resist the steps and grunt ineffectually into his gag. Aramis on the other hand was half dragged. It was obvious the man's strength was flagging and his feet stumbled on the uneven paving stones.

She shifted to Aramis and placed her dagger along his neck.

"Which one Athos?" she said softly, "Which one dies here too?"

"No," Athos's voice was gruff with anger, "Anne, stop."

"You're not the Comte anymore. You don't give orders. You take them," her eyes raked over him with something akin to lust in her gaze. It wasn't sex, it was power that had her enthralled as it always had.

"Anne," he tried again as his mind scrambled for an option, a way out, "It's me you want, have wanted all this time. You have me. I won't fight you, but there is no need -"

"No need!" she cried, "There is every need. I need. I demand your absolute destruction," Her beautiful face turned ugly with her cruelty, "You broke me to nothing when you ordered me hanged and I will break you. Kneel," she commanded.

He met her eyes with defiance, "Let them go. You and I will end this. I will not play this game with you."

"No one here is playing," she spat, "On your knees," she repeated. In a swish of velvet skits, she returned to Aramis's side. She yanked his head back by the hair and slid the dagger against his exposed throat,. "Or watch this one die right now."

No one moved. Even D'Artagnan had ceased his struggles as the scene played out to its inevitable end. Athos's mind raced through the same scenarios he had already rejected. He could rush her, but her men would kill the others anyway even if he got to her. The battle had already been lost when Porthos fell. The 11th-hour rescue would not come this time. Cornered, vulnerable, Athos felt something shatter inside as hope died.

He fell heavily to his knees, head bowed, hands bound behind his back. She had won.

"You look so tragic and beautiful like that," she said softly. There was a swish of velvet and she was beside him, her hand at the back of his head tugging at his unruly curls. "I loved you so much," she said tenderly, "All I wanted to do was give you everything your heart desired."

Athos squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his jaw tight. He wanted to recoil from her hands on him, choke her for her soft words, and yet . . . he had loved her. Still loved her? He didn't know anymore. Would claiming her dominion over him be enough to satisfy her?

Her dagger slid beneath his chin and the insistent pressure forced him to raise his head. He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him with longing. Something deep and old that had always been - a spark that kept them both ignited - passed between them. How was it possible he could still desire her?

"Beg me for them," her breathing was heavy, her eyes alight, "Let me hear you beg the way you made me beg before you hanged me," She kept the knife pressed into the tender flesh below his chin forcing his head up to meet her gaze.

He could feel D'Artagnan and Aramis watching him, knew they pitied him for the wretch he was even as they despised the vulnerability she drew from him. If Aramis was his penance, Anne was his shame. All of his failures came back to the moment at the hanging tree. The moment he had turned away. He would do anything to save his friends, but he had been too weak to do the one thing that would have. He took in a shuddering breath to keep from howling in grief and he saw victory in her eyes. It was unbearable. He let his gaze drift upward, beyond her, beyond the cruelty she served him to the rosetta window above the altar. The rising sun made the colored glass shine in glory - a halo over the devil's head.

"Please," Athos said softly. The knife withdrew and instead soft hands cupped his cheeks. He trembled at her touch.

"I think you can do better," she whispered in his ear before releasing him.

Athos felt a lump rise in his throat, his eyes brimmed with tears. He would say it but he knew it would never be enough. Miracles didn't happen for him.

"Please," he choked out, his head falling to his chest to hide the tears falling from his eyes. He just wanted it over. He longed for her blade on his throat to release him from the hell he had created. His death now would give her no reason to kill the others.

"Please," he said with more determination and strength. He was ready. Just, please.

Behind him, Anne screamed.

Athos raised his head to see the impossible. Porthos on his knees, grappling with a struggling Anne while D'Artagnan had wrenched free of the men holding him and had somehow gotten the knife. Aramis too was not so helpless as he had appeared, the marksmen cracked the back of his head into the face of the man holding him and standing quite firmly on his own two feet brought up his tied hands to deflect the dagger coming at his face. Two more men rushed in from the Vestry, hurling themselves at Porthos as he got to his feet. He managed to stay standing, but he lost his grip on Anne and she fled down the center aisle, using all her weight to pull open a massive door and flee into the rising morning light. Athos forced himself to his feet but even as he staggered after her he knew there was no way to catch her. He stopped and turned back to his friends, watching them subdue the remaining men. D'Artagnan had gotten the gag off Aramis and was busy sawing through the ropes that held him. Porthos had the remaining men down on the floor, kneeling sullenly where Athos had just been.

Athos couldn't believe it. He was shattered from what had just happened, but there were miracles left for him after all.

Later, Athos found himself comfortably positioned at their campfire. A bottle of wine to his left and Aramis to his right.

"How are you?" the marksman asked finally. Athos knew he would not get away without talking about what had happened today. Although he did appreciate that his friends up this point had made no mention of it.

"I'm fine. I'm more sober than I'd like to be," Athos confessed.

"That was hell, what she did," Athos heard the anger in Aramis's words.

"I'm sorry," Athos said, unable to look his friend in the eye, "My... weakness... has put us all in danger. I would never see you hurt on my account."

"Athos," he said, "I'm fine. Getting kidnapped, beaten, rescued," Aramis laughed, "that all comes with the job. I'm talking about you," Aramis said, "what she did to you today…" Aramis trailed off, looking for words. He sighed and put his hand on Athos's shoulder, "The pain she made you suffer today, I am so sorry. Making you beg, that was . . ." Aramis shook his head, unable to continue the thought. Watching a man break is a horrible thing.

"I didn't beg her, Aramis," Athos said quietly, "We were in a church, I was on my knees. What do you think I did?"

"You asked God," Aramis said incredulously although Athos thought it should have been the most obvious thing.

"I have demons, we all know it," Athos said, his cheeks flushing in his shame, "But I will never be ashamed of anything I do for you - for us," he added with a nod to D'Artagnan and Porthos on the other side of the fire, "Begging was the easiest thing I've ever done."

A/N: I've been in an Athos kind of mood lately but to the guest reviewers who asked for some Porthos whump, I promise I'll work on that next. If you want some Porthos misery, terrible things happen to Porthos in Branded On My Heart, it's one of my fics posted here. It has a slow start, but trust me and keep going. Honestly, all of them have their moments - its a long story.