Athos had pushed himself against the wall. He turned his head and watched through the window as the color of night changed from nearly black to reds, pinks, and finally to blues. For a moment, when the sun rose, he had closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the rays. He raised his left knee and rested his shackled hands in his lap. Blood flaked from his skin, his heart still raced, but his mind was clear. He had ignored Aramis' questions and instead remained silent as the soft whites of clouds made an appearance. He tried to listen for the breeze, the sounds of leaves batting together, and horses as they grazed and walked through tall grass.

D'Artagnan awoke, and he rubbed his face as the haze from the evening subsided. He could smell the heavy scent of blood. He looked toward Aramis, who rested on his haunches, as close as he could get to Athos' section of the cell. Aramis had pulled his restraints tight. He spoke quietly, despite the raspiness of his voice, and shook his head when his efforts failed. D'Artagnan frowned when he spotted the body of the turnkey. He then noticed Athos and the blood that dried on his face, neck, across his ripped shirt, and his chest. D'Artagnan pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then took a lung filling breath.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan pushed himself to his feet and quickly steadied himself against the wall when hit with a wave of dizziness. He shook his head, felt the dryness of his mouth, and frowned. He exhaled slowly. "What happened?" He glanced toward Porthos, who began to stir, and then walked toward Aramis without adding pressure to his wrists. "Aramis?"

Aramis looked over his shoulder toward d'Artagnan, and snapped, "Wait!" He shook his head and his shoulders slumped forward. "Just be silent a moment longer."

D'Artagnan frowned, clenched his jaw, and watched the scene before him. He felt his chest tighten and his breath suddenly caught in his throat. His mind ran wild as he looked at the body of the turnkey and felt himself hitch his breath.

Porthos rolled to his side with a grunt, pushed himself to all fours, and slowly stood. He fell back against the stone wall and squeezed his eyes shut to ease the dryness. He blinked several times and licked his lips at the sour taste in his mouth. Porthos rubbed his chest, felt his muscles slow to respond, and finally he squinted as the sun's beams shifted direction and cascaded across his face.

"Wha' was in tha' food?" Porthos asked. He looked at Aramis' back and then the body on the floor. He frowned, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward. "Wha' happened?" His voice grew deep as he looked at Athos, who continued to stare out the window.

"It was the water," Aramis said, "the turnkey put something in the water." He exhaled slowly and rubbed his face.

Porthos frowned. "Why would 'e do that?"

Aramis shook his head. "I can't explain this to you right now, Porthos — can't you figure it out?" He hung his head, rubbed his face against the sleeve of his shirt, and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry." He rubbed his face and shook his bowed head in disappointment when he heard the heavy door squeak open and several sets of footfalls. Aramis stood with d'Artagnan and Porthos, as four men stepped in front of the cell.

"Well, well, well," Tomas said with a chuckle, "this is a surprise." He looked at the carnage, winced, and then motioned for the door to be opened. He turned and looked at the man to his right. "Remove the body and clean as much of the blood and… whatever, " he waved toward the remains, "else you can." He looked at Athos, who met his eyes. "No guess who the culprit is." He chuckled, rubbed his bottom lip, and shook his head. "I'd heard the turnkey had a certain appetite for men…" he shrugged, "it would appear the sentiment wasn't shared?" He raised his eyebrows.

Athos looked away lazily, remained seated, and kept quiet.

Porthos gritted his teeth, flared his nostrils, and clenched his fists. He met Tomas' eyes, felt his heart slam against his chest wall, and his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms.

"You're needed outside," Tomas said, and looked to Athos.

"One of us should go," d'Artagnan said. He squared his shoulders and took a step forward. The chain swayed from the wall. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as his heart pounded against his chest. He glanced from Athos to Tomas and swallowed. His chest heaved, and while he tried to control his breathing, his chest hurt and his lungs craved air.

"Sacrificing yourself for your pack leader," Tomas said. He raised his eyebrows and curled his lips into a grin. "I'm sure the baron would like to meet the man who executed — brutally, I might add — his bastard son." He cocked an eyebrow and chuckled. "You didn't know?" He looked at Aramis, who frowned. "Why else would he keep someone like him around? Blood, no matter how sour, is still blood." Tomas turned toward Athos. "And you cannot go looking like this." He turned and left the cell as his men dragged Urbain's body away. "Henri, grab a bucket of water, and have Felix prepare his kit, Monsieur Athos needs a shave, and a clean shirt."

Henri, a stout man with short gray hair, and strong arms, turned and left. Tomas remained and watched the cleanup continue. A guard tossed sand over the blood that had yet to dry, but had seeped into the cracks of the floor. Tainted straw was removed. The stench was still there… the lingering odor of human waste, piss, and blood.

"What do you want?" Aramis asked and shrugged his shoulders. He raised his hands in question and shook his head. "If you want us dead, why not just kill us — why this?" He frowned. "What do you have to gain by this? A sick idea of grandeur or importance?"

"I've been paid, Monsieur," Tomas said, and quirked a smile, "very well to keep you all out of reach…" He pointed toward Athos. "I've been paid extra for you."

"By the cardinal?" Athos asked and looked up from his position on the floor. "That's where I know you from," he pulled his eyebrows together, and said, "you were at the palace multiple times…"

"You're mistaken."

"No," Athos shook his head. "I'm not," he shrugged his right shoulder. "You're quite fond of high-necked doublets, and the same high priced prostitutes that frequent the cardinal's chambers — he's not as discrete as he should be regarding his indiscretions." He rested his left elbow on a raised knee.

Aramis cocked an eyebrow in question and listened as Porthos shifted his stance.

Tomas frowned, met Athos eyes, and nodded. He squatted at eye level and licked his bottom lip. "You've all become a problem… and that's what I do… I fix problems." He rested his elbows on his thighs and felt his calves burn. "Right now…" he paused and cocked his head, "you're my problem, and because you're my problem, I have to resolve it." He stood. "Where's the money in killing you now?" He glanced at Aramis and reached into his doublet, removed a coin purse, and squeezed the base.

Tomas stepped aside as Henri brought a full bucket of water to the cell. Felix stopped on the other side of the cell with a folded white shirt draped over his arm and his shaving kit. He looked nervous and didn't look at the men around him. Another man followed with a wooden chair. Tomas pulled his pistol from his belt, cocked back the hammer, and pointed it toward d'Artagnan. "Stand up," Tomas said. He kicked Athos' legs and looked at him. "I have no qualms about shooting the farm boy."

D'Artagnan yanked on the chain securing him to the wall. He sighed as Athos stood. Henri placed the bucket on the floor. He unshackled Athos' right hand and stood back.

"Turn around and face the wall," Tomas said, and watched Athos turn.

Henri secured Athos' hands behind his back, released the chain securing him to the wall, and watched it fall at his feet. Tomas lowered the weapon and released the hammer as he slipped it back into place on his belt.

"Urbain got to ya, did he?" Henri said with a chuckle, and grasped Athos' arm above his elbow, and forced him to turn. Henri glanced toward Tomas and said, "The boy's shakin' like a leaf."

"He's not a boy… not anymore," Tomas said.

Henri chuckled. "When you're my age, they're all boys." He rubbed his chin and met Athos' eyes. "Makes you wonder what they're gonna do to you next, don't it."

Athos looked at Tomas with neck muscles tense, and with nerves frayed. He struggled to remain indifferent, but his body betrayed him and he shook like an overworked horse: nerves misfired, muscles twitched, and his heart continued to beat wildly against his ribs. He turned and watched three men enter the cell. Athos knew he had pushed his limits with the cardinal when he offered an underlying threat of finding Milady and the man who hired her. He had humiliated the Duke of Savoy in front of the king, and while apologies were spoken, the humiliation had not been forgotten. He had dismissed his duties as the Comte de le Fere and abandoned Pinon. And while he had ordered Anne to leave Paris and never show her face again… he knew in his heart his threat would go unheeded — she would show her face again, it was just a matter of time. The musketeers had overshadowed the red guard since their inception and become a favorite of the queen's and the king's. And despite the most skillfully planned attacks on the king and France, the musketeers were there putting a stop to it, no matter the cost. Their list of enemies grew longer the more he thought about it, and he realized that their enemies — no matter the source — would not stop until victory was achieved.

Hands tightened around Athos' arms. They kicked the backs of his legs and forced him to his knees. Henri grabbed a fistful of Athos' hair, shoved him forward, and forced his head into the bucket.

"I swear I'm goin' to kill you!" Porthos shouted, and met Tomas' eyes. He yanked and pulled on the chain, sore wrists bled, hands cramped as his grip tightened. "I mean it — I'm goin' to kill you!" He looked toward Athos, felt his throat catch, and his chest tighten. "You'd better hope I never get out of here!" He met Tomas' eyes.

Aramis fell forward to his knees, felt his heart palpate against his chest, and watched Athos claw and pull at the shackles behind his back as his head remained submerged. Aramis said silent words of prayers and looked at the faces of the men who had taken it upon themselves to dole out punishment.

"He can't breathe!" Aramis looked up as Henri met his eyes. "If the goal is to kill him here, then you're succeeding!"

Athos could hear the muted sounds of his brothers yelling. Water splashed over the sides of the bucket. Athos' struggles slowed, and he stopped clawing at the shackles behind his back. Suddenly yanked back, he rested on his haunches, and he gasped for breath. Before he could protest, the guards pulled him to his feet. He coughed, spit, and inhaled deeply.

Tomas stepped forward, grasped Athos around his neck, and pushed him against the wall.

Athos closed his eyes as he felt the firm hand tighten around his throat. He met Tomas' eyes.

"You're going to do what I tell you," Tomas said, and looked at Athos. "Nobles are lining up to fight the best swordsman in the king's army," he tightened his grip, "if you let one of them kill you — I will gut one of your friends like a fish — I'll hang the farm boy from the nearest tree and let the crows pick him clean — then I'll remove the hands and feet of the one who remains — and he can live the rest of his life knowing you failed." Tomas turned and met Aramis' eyes and then looked toward Porthos, who struggled to control his breathing. "Since none of you are aware of the king's taxes — you've forced me to make other arrangements." He released his grip on Athos' neck and watched him stumble forward. "And you're a part of it."

Athos was forced from the cell and shoved onto the chair. Hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, and again, someone grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back. He scraped the cobblestones with his left booted foot and struggled to watch Felix as he lowered the small axe shaped blade to his left cheek.

"Don't cut his throat," Tomas said, and chuckled. "I need him alive — at least for now." He shut the cell door, latched it, and slipped his arms through the squares. He watched Porthos continue his frantic pulls at the O-ring buried deep within the limestone walls that restrained him. Aramis watched from his knees, but met Tomas' eyes, and silently swore revenge. D'Artagnan had looked away, unable to watch, but he clenched and unclenched his fists as his anger continued to manifest in ways he had not experienced before.

"I'm goin' to kill you!" Porthos abandoned the eyebolt and charged to the end of his restraint. "I'm goin' to rip your 'ead off an' stick it on a spike!"

Tomas chuckled, stepped back from the iron cell, and shook his head. "I look forward to watching you try."

Porthos growled and heaved as tired lungs burned for air. He could hear the scraping of Athos boot along the floor as the shaving continued, and Felix's quiet words as he progressed.

"I'm so sorry, Monsieur," Felix said, as he shifted the blade around Athos' jawline. He paused a moment and swallowed as he looked at the face before him. He met green eyes that held underlying fears, shame, and anger. "Must you men be so rough?" Felix said, and looked toward the man who held Athos' head by the hair, "I cannot possibly do this while you threaten to break his neck." He watched Athos' neck relax as the hand holding his hair released him. "Imbeciles!" he snapped. "Much better," he said, and shifted the blade around Athos' mustache, and cleared the stubble from his cheeks and beneath his jaw. Despite Felix's short stature and slight frame, he handled himself with poise, and tried to bring comfort with soft-spoken words and experienced hands.

"I've ever given anyone a shave under these same circumstances," Felix said, "but I'm quite pleased with the result." He stepped back and returned his tools to his bag and grabbed the clean blouse from the man who held it. "If you would be so kind as to release him."

"You're a pompous little shit, aren't you, small man?" A guard said with a chuckle.

"I've been called a great many things over the course of my years, Monsieur, you'll need to get more creative if you want to offend me."

Athos pushed himself upright in the chair and then stood. Muscles continued their turmoil, and nerves betrayed his normally stoic disposition. His hands were grabbed, the shackles removed, and he rubbed the torn and battered tissue around his wrists. Without being prompted, he pulled his shirt over his head, and exposed a lean, fit torso. Felix handed him the clean shirt and Athos slipped it over his head.

"Whatever it is they have planned for you, Monsieur," Felix said. "No one will blame you for the results of their own actions." He ignored the questions from Athos' colleagues, turned toward the door, and motioned for the stable hand to bring the doublet. Felix looked at the hardened men who stood behind Athos, those who took joy in their mistreatment of others, and worked alongside men like Tomas. Felix ignored them. He'd seen men like them before, ungrateful for what they had and desperate for what they couldn't get. Had they been born horses, he was sure the baron would have gelded them all, regardless of their confirmation.

"I've worked for the baron for many years…" Felix took the doublet and motioned for the boy to scamper off, "he's a fair man… he will not blame you for Urbain's death," he shrugged and shook his head, "he may even thank you for it." He looked up and met Athos expressive green eyes.

Felix handed Athos his doublet. "They have removed the pauldron for purposes I don't understand." He looked again at the guards. "But I have found myself not understanding many things these past few days." He stood back and to the side.

Athos slipped into his doublet and was pushed forward by a guard.

"You too, short man," a guard muttered.

"Yes," Felix replied, "I just need to grab my chair." He stepped aside as the guard walked by him and shoved him against the cell wall. Felix slipped, and then attempted to grab the chair, but dropped his supplies. "I'm coming!" he yelled, as he frantically picked up his shaving kit. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the cell. He then grabbed his chair. "Please wait," he said, and trotted after them.