A/N: Many thanks for reading and reviewing the last story.
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111. Almost A Missed Opportunity
All of Them:
"Better?" Aramis asked, as he placed Athos's strapped ankle gently on a pillow and pulled a blanket over him.
"Yes, thank you," Athos sighed, his words slurring slightly.
"Comfortable?"
"Yes, thank you," he repeated. "You can stop fussing now, Aramis."
His surroundings had taken on a rather blurred appearance and his thoughts were pleasantly dull. He was feeling a lot more comfortable now, given how his morning had played out.
Aramis paused, looking pensive.
"We know you don't like a fuss, Athos," he ventured. "But I was a little worried back there."
"You hid it well," Athos replied, sleepily.
"You were glaring ..." Aramis replied. "And your language was a little ripe."
"I had not expected to have my morning disrupted so," Athos grunted. "And I do not like the company of rodents."
"Well," Aramis said, lowering his voice, "It all worked out in the end."
"Better than expected," Athos mumbled, closing his eyes.
Aramis reached down and gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze.
Athos lazily raised a hand and placed it over his, patted it twice, and was asleep.
Aramis huffed out an affectionate laugh and crept out.
All was well.
oOo
Earlier that day:
It was sometimes Athos's custom to call in at a local tavern prior to reporting for duty. Sometimes, Porthos was there, already embroiled in a card game, perhaps having been there all night. Today though, it seemed that Athos was alone and he took himself off to a corner to enjoy his first ale of the day and get his thoughts in order. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and settled in.
There were few customers so early in the day but the sudden arrival of two men drew Athos's attention, as the few customers there were suddenly seemed to finish their drinks quickly and leave.
Athos sat back in the shadows, his head bowed but his eyes on the men as they crowded the landlord. Suddenly, voices were raised;
The landlord shouted, "I refuse to pay you more! Get out!"
Athos sighed.
Sadly, this was a common occurrence in this area. The promise of "protection" by those who offered anything but. This landlord had obviously had enough.
One of the men angrily grabbed the landlord and dragged him to the end of the bar. As he was dragged along, the landlord grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed it against his aggressor's head. It seemed to have little effect, however, apart from making both the thugs more belligerent.
Athos finished his drink and slowly stood, carefully removing his hat and dropping it on the table.
"Gentlemen," he said, quietly but with immense authority. "I am Athos, of the King's Musketeers. You are under arrest for extortion."
Both men turned in surprise to the man who had spoken so authoritatively.
"Go to the Garrison," Athos said calmly to the landlord, as he drew his sword. "Get help."
The two men were now more interested in the Musketeer than the landlord, who now ran from the tavern at some speed.
A little disgruntled at having to leave his ale, Athos stepped away from the table as the two men drew blades of their own.
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The landlord did not stop until he reached the Garrison, only a short distance, fortunately, as he was not the healthiest of Parisians.
Musketeers were milling around prior to muster and the man made a beeline for the three at the table under the stairs. He knew them by sight, as they were a familiar sight on the streets and sometimes in his own tavern. At the mention of their comrade's name, they were up and running, leaving the man to collapse on the vacant bench to collect his breath.
The tavern door stood ajar and a few would-be patrons stood outside.
Porthos grabbed one man by the arm without ceremony and spun him around.
"What's goin' on!" he growled.
"Fight," the cowering man said. "They're still in there!"
Porthos pushed him away and shouted for them to disperse. They took no more persuading, disappearing down the street, no doubt to the next tavern which would hopefully be a little safer.
d'Artagnan went around the back, as Aramis and Porthos pushed their way into the building, swords at the ready.
A few chairs had been overturned and there was broken glass on the floor but otherwise, the room was empty.
"Athos's was here," Aramis said, his voice low, indicating the familiar hat on the table in the corner.
They turned at a sudden noise behind them, blades raised.
It was only d'Artagnan, who joined them at the table, shaking his head. The three moved toward the bar at the far end of the room.
"What's goin' on?" Porthos said again, as they all circled around the bar.
"Oh," Aramis said softly, as they stopped dead.
Ahead, was a gaping hole in the floor. The cellar door hatch was open.
oOo
Standing at the top of the stairs, they saw their friend sprawled on the packed earth floor at the bottom.
"Athos?" Aramis called down, fearing the worst, as he led their cautious descent.
Much to their relief, Athos turned his head. He had been watching something.
The cellar came into view as they neared the bottom of the stairs.
Two unconscious men lay nearby and several rats, which scurried off at the movement from above.
Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan came to a halt a few steps from the floor. Athos's foot was caught between the bottom two treads.
Aramis dropped down over the railing to check that the two unconscious men were not a present threat, while d'Artagnan managed to drop off the staircase without disturbing Athos further. Looking around they were surrounded by dozens of barrels.
"Don't worry," Athos growled. "I haven't touched a drop."
"How did you do that?" Porthos grunted, pausing on the step above Athos's trapped foot and looking down.
"I have no idea," Athos sighed. "It happened rather quickly. Such is the nature of falls."
"The body tries to save itself," Aramis said, as he rose from a crouch. "Both alive," he added as he strode over.
"The body tries to save itself?" Porthos repeated, in an unconvinced tone.
"Precisely, my dear Porthos," Aramis smiled, now that he could see his brother was relatively unscathed. "It's an unconscious movement. The mind has little to do with it, being bent on survival."
"Well, he's certainly bent 'imself, that's for sure," Porthos replied, scratching his head.
"So, how do we get him out of there?" d'Artagnan interjected, as he unravelled a length of rope he had found and moved back to the unconscious men, with the intent of tying them up.
"Gentlemen," Athos put in, "I am here, if you have forgotten."
"You got any ideas?" Porthos said.
"Not at the moment," Athos replied, tersely.
Aramis pushed his hair back. "Sorry, my friend," he said. "But you cause us a dilemma."
"Of course," Athos growled, groaning as he shifted. His ankle remained firmly wedged. "It was my dilemma too, though I thought your arrival would alleviate me of it."
Aramis bent to peer behind the step.
"No room to move back there," he said. He ran his hand over Athos's boot, which protruded through the rough slats.
"How does it feel?" he called back.
"Swollen," Athos replied, tightly. "Painful. Thank you for asking."
"Now, now," Porthos, finally getting himself onto firm ground. "We're glad to find you alive."
"That's a comfort," Athos muttered.
"An' we got 'ere as quick as we could. Lucky that landlord didn't have a heart attack on the way."
"I am grateful, on both counts," Athos replied.
"Did you hit your head?" Aramis asked, as Athos closed his eyes and winced.
"I don't think so."
"You were certainly aware enough to deal with these two," d'Artagnan noted.
"I was lucky enough to be the last to fall," Athos replied.
"Glad I don't have your kind of luck," Porthos huffed.
d'Artagnan meanwhile, had gone to the back of the cellar, returning with a mallet, no doubt used to fix the bungs in the barrels.
"Now, d'Artagnan," Aramis smiled. "I don't think he needs putting out of his misery yet."
"Oh believe me," Athos snarled. "I will, unless you three GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Calm, Athos," Aramis replied, taking the mallet from d'Artagnan and passing it to Porthos.
"I am surrounded by rats, barrels of ale and brandy and three miscreants," Athos hissed. "How am I to stay calm!"
"There are only two miscreants," d'Artagnan pointed out.
"I wasn't referring to them!" Athos yelled, raising himself painfully onto his elbow.
He had not expected his morning to turn into farce.
"Brace yerself!" Porthos said then, in a determined tone, as he swung the mallet at the broad wooden peg that held the tread in place. The force reverberated along the tread and Athos clenched his teeth, dropping back onto a pile of sacks that Aramis had swiftly and kindly placed under his head. Though he got no thanks for it.
"God's Blood!" Athos ground out, the knocks and scrapes he had received on his swift downward journey to earth now beginning to make themselves known.
"One more!" Porthos called out, as he swung the mallet again.
Athos's leg was suddenly freed as the tread dropped down on one side.
Aramis and d'Artagnan pulled him free as Porthos wedged the loose tread on top of the one that Athos's leg had been resting one, rather than let the landlord experience a similar fall down the stairs as Athos had, albeit a much shorter one.
Athos was now trying to raise himself but Aramis stopped him.
"Let me check you first," he said, his hand firmly on his friend's chest.
"Your leathers appear to have saved you from any real harm," he concluded a long few moments later. He ran his fingers over his friend's scalp and found no lumps, although there was a bruise appearing on his cheekbone.
"That boot won't come off," Porthos grunted.
"We can deal with that back at the Garrison," Aramis replied. "It will probably need to be cut off."
Athos groaned.
"Are you in pain?" Aramis said, suddenly alert.
"The loss of my boots and my dignity pains me. My body is some way behind," Athos replied, flatly.
"Well, now you are free, and you have saved the tavern from these two," Aramis said, indicating the tied-up thugs behind them, who were now beginning to rouse. "I think a little celebration is in order."
Athos braced himself for more shenanigans, before realising Aramis was drawing his attention to the barrels that surrounded them.
Porthos laughed and passed him the mallet.
"We don't want to miss an opportunity," Aramis called over his shoulder as he leant against the nearest barrel. "Ale or brandy, my friend?"
Athos sighed, but it was a contented sigh.
"What do you think?" he replied, eyebrow raised.
oOo
And so, a while later, they had carried a quite relaxed Athos the short distance back to the Garrison, draped on Porthos's back. Aramis walked beside, his hand protectively on Athos's back.
d'Artagnan walked a few paces ahead, clearing the way for the little procession.
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Thanks for reading! More soon.
