Back in Dax, Henri Odson woke to an incredible headache. He quickly recovered when awareness returned- he was alone, and his key missive was absent.
That young bastard- I had him in my clutches, he thought, anger boiling deep in his belly. I should have forgone my plan of torture and simply pummeled him to death. Or choked him until the life ebbed from his body- whichever was more- fulfilling.
He began throwing his own belongings about, no longer being able to contain his rage.
It did not suffice.
Few things ever did, he had come to know that much about himself. His rage must be fed, and few things sated him like torture, and cold-blooded murder.
He continued to trash his home. His neighbor, Louis, popped in to see what the ruckus was all about.
"Henri, what is-"
Henri grabbed his neighbor by the head.
Now this may suffice until I can get my hands around that boy.
Henri's hands lowered around Louis' throat. Louis' face showed utter terror.
The man could not breathe. He fought back, but as his energy ebbed, he became putty in Henri's powerful hands.
Henri was getting excited- aroused, perhaps- at the fright now evident in his annoying neighbor.
He tried to imagine the face of the young man impersonating a nephew of his, in place of Louis'. It was enough to take his current kill to completion.
Once his neighbor slumped to the floor, dead, Henri decided, no, that still wasn't quite sufficient enough.
Treville's visit with Richelieu was one of personal satisfaction. Not only was he able to report the safe return of 'his man', he stated that it was D'Artagnan who burned the letter before his return to Paris.
"And you are certain that he burned it? That the missive was the correct one?"
"Based on what D'Artagnan told me of the letter, we are reasonably certain it was the same letter."
"Reasonably?"
"It mentioned the 'item' and was signed by a Louise De Metz."
'That is it. And- D'Artagnan burned it?"
"That's what he told me," Treville lied.
"And- you believe him?"
"Implicitly."
"But- Henri Odson still lives?"
"Yes, according to D'Artagnan. He disabled him and made his escape with the letter."
Treville was thoroughly enjoying see the Cardinal squirm. He knew that he had to trust Treville and his Musketeer recruit, but as trust was never a concept the Cardinal either understood or found himself capable of demonstrating, he was uncomfortable. Treville, as a result, was delighted.
He asked the Cardinal, "So you believe that this Odson will no longer make good on his threat to collaborate with Spain with just his word about his dealings with you?"
"He might be able to convince Philip, given the details of each of their murders that he clearly would be able to provide, as they were killed by his own hands. However, Philip would then need irrefutable proof- more than the word of a deadly mercenary- to then accuse France of its collusion in the demise of men he knew he employed to spy on us. Our inevitable denial of any involvement in such plots would ensure his accusations would go nowhere, and Philip is savvy enough to know that. Besides, Philip is keen on keeping the peace at the moment. Nothing would be gained on pressing such accusations."
Richelieu then simply said, "Which means I believe our business is concluded for today. Good day, Captain."
"Good day, your eminence. And you're welcome," he could not resist adding.
"D'Artagnan. May I speak to you privately?" Athos asked.
The boy had just finished eating, and already was feeling weary. But as he was dreading confronting Athos, perhaps he wouldn't be able to rest with this hovering over him. So he relented.
"Of course."
Athos paused, and seemed to be trying to formulate the right response. "I'm struggling to explain my despicable behavior in the tavern that night without coming off sounding as if it is an excuse. Because there is no excuse for my words.
"I believe it mainly stems from me not only seeing you as my younger brother and mentee, but almost as a son. And fathers wish to protect their sons. I believe in my inebriated state, I equated pushing you away as a way of protecting you. Trying to convince you that you were a…" Athos almost choked on his words; sober, could he even repeat his claim as D'Artagnan as a pretender?
"…trying to describe you as a…less than capable Musketeer meant you possibly going back to Gascony, where you would be safe. Ridiculous, I know, but that was the drink talking. I honestly cannot even remember everything that I said…"
D'Artagnan certainly remembered every word. And he couldn't help but recall how hurt he was by them at the time. Suddenly his anger flared- since Athos couldn't recall his words, did that mean that he was expected to simply ignore them?
"You said I would never be a Musketeer, that I always showed up uninvited, and that I was a pretender," D'Artagnan replied, suddenly hot.
I said all that? Athos thought to himself. He recalled the 'pretender' bit, but the rest…
"I- I was drunk…"
"Oh, so because you were drunk, I'm a fool to have what you said hurt me, is that it? You get to say the most hurtful things and get away with it because an inebriated Athos is just up to his old drunken ways again? My father would never had gotten drunk and said such things to me."
Athos was getting exasperated. Perhaps he expected a quick absolution from his younger brother, coming to him with such naked honesty about his transgression. Didn't he realize what a big step it took for him to come to him, admitting his indiscretion, exposed?
"D'Artagnan, what do you want me to say? I suppose I cannot compete with your saint of a father, who apparently was perfect and never made a mistake, so perhaps I have wasted my breath attempting to apologize at all. I suspect your father moddy-coddled you too much, then, making you less amenable to criticism."
"What- what did you just say about my father? He was the best man I've ever known! And YOU are a profoundly sad, pathetic, cold-hearted, drunken bastard who should throw himself on his own sword and do us all a favor and get it over with! I hate you!"
As D'Artagnan made to leave, Athos shouted at his back. "And you accepted that mission just to prove that you are worthy, without for a second questioning the motivation behind it. You almost got yourself killed, a willing puppet to the Cardinal!"
D'Artagnan turned back. "And I was unaware that once I accepted the mission on TREVILLE'S order, there was also a requirement for me to be subject to you pointing your finger in judgment!"
Aramis and Porthos, not being able to ignore the argument anymore, slowly moved closer, clearly sensing an escalation. Things had gotten pretty hot at this point.
D'Artagnan then got in Athos' face. "And you take back what you just said about my father- otherwise prepare for a duel!"
Porthos and Aramis were stunned. Athos would never say anything derogatory about D'Artagnan's father; not sober, anyway, which he currently was.
And a duel? This must be stopped, now.
"Alright, everyone take a step back. What the hell is going on?!" Aramis asked.
"Athos insulted the memory of my father, and he expects me to forgive him for what he said at the Wren. As if being drunk gives him license to offend my honor!"
Athos said, "And you do not have the good grace to accept an apology when it is offered. If it is a duel that you wish, I would not deny you the satisfaction."
Porthos and Aramis could not believe their ears.
"Ay, now wait a minute- there'll be no duelin'," Porthos said. "This is crazy."
"Athos, D'Artagnan, obviously there has been some sort of misunderstanding, and this has clearly gotten out of hand-" but as Aramis finished his thought, D'Artagnan launched himself at Athos.
Athos punched D'Artagnan in the stomach, hard, and the boy fell at his feet, gasping.
"Alright, enough!" Aramis shouted, but he was ignored by a recovering D'Artagnan, already back and up on his feet, and lunging at Athos. Porthos grabbed him and held him back.
"NAME YOUR WEAPON!" D'Artagnan shouted at Athos, while being restrained by Porthos.
"Swords, of course," Athos replied, as if it were the only obvious reaction.
Aramis' and Porthos' heads began to spin at how quickly this situation was spiraling out of control.
"Athos, have you taken leave of your senses?!" Aramis said. D'Artagnan didn't stand a chance against the master swordsman in all of France.
'Swords it is," D'Artagnan replied calmly.
"When?" Athos asked D'Artagnan.
"Right now!" D'Artagnan spat back.
"No, NOT right now!" Aramis screamed. "Tomorrow at noon, somewhere where an illegal duel will not get whomever wins in any legal trouble! Say, behind the Wren."
"Are ya kiddin'?" Porthos asked Aramis.
"Deferring gets us to talk some sense into our two insensible brothers. At the very least, it gives our young Gascon one more evening alive on this earth," Aramis replied, out of D'Artagnan and Athos' line of hearing.
D'Artagnan seemed to be considering the proposal. "I want satisfaction now!" he growled.
Aramis had enough. "Well, that's just tough, my exasperating little brother! Now I don't want to hear another word on the matter! So keen on getting yourself killed, suddenly?!"
"We'll see who is left standing," D'Artagnan huffed, walking away.