1. All trussed up and still nowhere to go
"You have to let go"
AN: I've been wanting to write some Musketeers fanfiction for a while, so I decided Whumptober was as good a time as any to jump in.
I'll be following the Whumptober 2021 prompts, but if I don't have a specific idea for a set prompt or I'm just not fussed about that particular prompt, I'll probably skip it. Having said that, I'm open to suggestions, so if there's a prompt you'd like to see written and I've not covered it, feel free to suggest an idea in a review.
I'll be writing and uploading as many of the prompts in October as I can, but I may stray into November since I'm not the fastest writer and some of my stories are quite long. Hopefully you enjoy them either way.
This first prompt was inspired by 2x06. The Comte de la Meaux was a real countship until 1314, after which it merged into the royal domain, so I've taken a little creative license for this story and extended its existence to 1625 (or 1630, when the BBC Musketeers is set).
All the stories in this series will be set during seasons 1 and 2 (unless mentioned otherwise) and will focus on our four main characters, with Constance, Treville and others making an appearance too. If you enjoy my writing, I'd love for you to leave a review.
TMTMTM
It had been a quiet few weeks in the Garrison, so when Treville requested the presence of the Inseparables in his office, Porthos was raring to go.
"Whatever it is," he said to Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Athos, as they made their way up the stairs, "I'll take it."
"You may regret saying that." Athos said dryly.
"Yes. What if it's wrangling goats?" Aramis asked.
"Or mucking out stables for a week?" D'Artagnan chimed in.
"Or cleaning clogged drains." Aramis added, looking like he was enjoying himself immensely.
"Alright, alright," Porthos said, rolling his eyes, "there are some things I'd rather not do. But at this point, I'm itching for some action."
"Be careful what you wish for." Aramis said with mild smile. "Excitement for us usually means, more bullets and battles."
The marksman had no idea of the foreshadowing his words would hold.
The four entered Treville's office and waited for their assignment. Treville had received word from the palace that a Comte with holdings on the outskirts of Paris had missed paying his taxes and had not been heard from in a week.
The King wanted a group of Musketeers to ride out to the Comte's villa and find out if he was in good health.
"What he really wants," Porthos said, climbing into the saddle of his horse, "is to make sure he his taxes without any further delay."
"Careful Porthos, speaking ill of the King could be deemed as treason." Athos chided mildly, but there was amusement in his expression as he guided his horse towards the Garrison gates.
"Treason or truth?" Porthos asked, following their leader out.
"Likely both." D'Artagnan said, also sounding amused.
"Yes, and both will get Porthos in trouble at some point." Aramis said, bringing up the rear.
"Good thing I've got you three to bail me out then." Porthos called back with a smirk as they rode out the gates.
The four Musketeers left the busy streets of Paris and journeyed into the countryside. Once they reached the green landscape of open fields, Porthos spurred his horse on and took off galloping down the dirt track road.
Aramis chuckled and looked to Athos, a question in his eyes. Athos said mock-wearily, "I suppose we better make sure he doesn't get into trouble." But there was a glint in his eye that said he didn't mind what they were about to do at all.
The three of them took off after Porthos. Soon they were galloping down the open road, sun warming their backs as they caught up to their brother's shadow. The smell of cut grass and wild flowers blew to them on the wind and they rode level with Porthos, who grinned victoriously.
With his brothers at his side, racing along in the open air, Porthos felt unleashed in a way that he hadn't in weeks. He felt unstoppable.
Eventually the four men slowed to a trot to let their horses rest, but the thrill of a good ride remained singing in their veins for a while longer.
After several hours' ride, they arrived at the Comte de la Meaux's villa. The building was stately, with five floors of creamy sandstone rising above sprawling gardens that eventually gave way to an orchard.
"Well, it certainly looks like he can afford his taxes." Aramis quipped as they rode up to the main entrance.
Athos, who was in the lead, slowed as they arrived at the gates. "Something's not right." He said, upon seeing the entryway.
Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were immediately alert as they too noticed what was amiss.
The gates were ajar. And there were no stablehands, gardeners, or attendants in sight.
The land looked eerily silent.
The four men dismounted so they could open the gates fully, then led their horses inside.
"I don't like this." Porthos said quietly, as they walked further into the grounds.
"Where is everyone?" D'Artagnan asked.
As they neared the stables and other out buildings, the answer became clearer. Tools were scattered everywhere as if dropped in a hurry, and all of the horses were gone.
"It looks as though they fled." Athos mused.
"But why?" Porthos questioned.
"I imagine we're going to find out in there." Athos said, tilting his head in the direction of the villa.
They each tied their horses up and started towards the main building.
They hadn't quite left the stables when Aramis called, "Athos. There are blood stains here."
The other three men tensed on hearing the medic's words and Athos drew his musket.
"Be on your guard, all of you. We don't know what we're walking into."
Heading up the path to the front doors of the mansion, they saw signs of a struggle. Plant pots were knocked over and flower beds trampled. More blood stains could be seen here and there.
"Athos." D'Artagnan said suddenly, and the foreboding in his tone made the other Musketeers turn immediately.
D'Artagnan was so still, he could have been one of the garden statues. But when Athos approached him, he could see there was a tightly-coiled tension in his frame.
"What-" The words died on his lips as he saw what D'Artagnan was looking at.
Further across the lawn, there were several mounds of earth that could only be graves.
Porthos swore and Aramis touched the cross that hung round his neck.
"Whatever happened here seemed violent, like there was some sort of attack." D'Artagnan said sounding angry. "Do we go in there, not knowing what awaits us and whether those that carried out the attack are still here, or do we send a message back to Paris and wait for reinforcements?"
"If a hostile force is still here, reinforcements would be the sensible option. But, there may be innocent people in there who need our help." Aramis speculated.
"Waiting for reinforcements could take hours. I say we go in there and smoke 'em out." Porthos said flexing his grip on his pistol.
The three men looked to Athos for a decision.
"We go in as quietly as possible." Athos stated, looking each of them in the eye. "We investigate, see if there is a hostile force here and if there are any civilians or hostages. We regroup out here and send for reinforcements."
The three nodded and they approached the main doors cautiously, muskets raised. Athos twisted the large brass handle slowly. He expected it to be locked, but felt it turn under his palm.
Pushing it open slowly, he paused as the hinge creaked, then opened the door wider and stepped into the entry way. The hall was expansive, with artwork framing the walls and an ornate staircase curving up to the second floor.
Mud and dirt trailed into the foyer and several ornaments had been knocked over, lying smashed on the floor. Further evidence that something was amiss here.
Athos stepped fully into the hall, musket raised in front of him, ready to defend himself if needed. Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan followed close behind him.
The villa was almost too quiet and Athos signalled to the others to check the ground floor receiving rooms. They fanned out, looking through the large, sun-drenched rooms and finding more signs of an intrusion.
Furniture was out of place and there were plates and cups here and there. In one room the drapes had all been hastily closed, shutting out most of the light.
Athos regrouped with Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan in the entryway and they each reported their findings.
The four men were about to head upstairs when the sound of something hitting the floor above them made them jump.
"What was that?" Porthos asked in a low voice.
"I don't know, but I think whoever broke in here is still here." Athos replied looking grim.
"Should we send a message to Treville?" D'Artagnan asked.
Athos was about to respond, when a cry from above startled them all.
"The comte?" Aramis asked in hushed tones.
"Whoever it is, they need our help." Porthos said, starting for the stairs.
Athos hissed at him to wait, but the tallest Musketeer was already halfway up the grand staircase, second musket drawn.
In the room on the right at the top of the stairs, Porthos could hear voices and laughter. But, somehow, it didn't sound like the welcoming kind.
Kneeling, he peered through the keyhole into the room. The interior was long and gilded, looking large enough to be a ballroom.
At one end, the Comte de la Meaux sat tied to a chair, looking dishevelled. His clothes were torn and there was blood above his left eyebrow. His wife was sitting next to him in a similar state of disarray, looking frightened. Her hands were tied together but she didn't appear bound to her chair.
Around them knelt the rest of their staff who hadn't escaped with the others. They were all being held at gunpoint by a group of men in black and brown leathers.
Porthos had managed to count nine of them when Aramis whispered his name. He turned to see his brothers at his shoulder, Athos looking irked and Aramis and d'Artagnan looking serious.
He motioned for them to be quiet and to look through the keyhole.
Once they had all peered in, they stepped away from the door.
"Bandits?" D'Artagnan whispered.
"More like a gang." Porthos replied.
"There are nine of them and ten hostages, we need a plan." Athos murmured.
"We should lure them out to move them away from the Comte and his staff." Aramis suggested. "Once they're out of that room, we separate them and take on two each."
What about the ninth man?" Porthos asked.
"You can have him." Aramis whispered back, smirking. "I know you like unfavourable odds."
"Thanks," Porthos said sarcastically.
"Alright," Athos interrupted them, "we'll use noise to draw them out. D'Artagnan and I will cause a disturbance in these two rooms," he indicated to the rooms on the other side of the stairs to the ballroom, "and take on any that come after us. Aramis, Porthos, wait until you see several men enter those doors before causing a secondary distraction and leading the others upstairs. Once we've each dealt with our opponents, we should be able to overpower anyone left in the ballroom."
With their plan decided, the four Musketeers took up their positions. Athos and d'Artagnan opened the wide, white doors that connected their two rooms so they'd have more room to fight and assist each other.
Then they stood behind the large writing desk and holstered their pistols momentarily.
"Ready?" Athos asked.
D'Artagnan nodded.
"On my count. One, two, three."
They lifted and pushed as hard as they could and the writing desk toppled forward, smashing against the wood flooring. Pens, paperweights, and supplies flew everywhere and the desk itself cracked on impact, splintering down the middle.
The noise was exactly as loud as they had planned. Voices sounded as the ballroom doors opened and men's footsteps thudded across the hall.
Re-drawing their pistols, Athos stood behind a door and d'Artagnan crouched behind an armoire.
"Who goes there?" A man called out, as another rushed into the room, weapon drawn.
"Drop it!" d'Artagnan shouted, and the man looked confused for a second, not knowing where the voice came from. Then he spotted the youngest Musketeer and aimed his pistol, but d'Artagnan was faster and fired on him before he had time to fully line up his shot.
Other men entered the room then, and the battle began in earnest.
At the top of the stairs on the next floor, Porthos and Aramis, hearing the sound of gunfire, waited tensely. Four men had come out so far, as they'd hoped, but they needed to draw out several others if this plan were to stand a chance of working.
"We need to make our move now." Aramis said decisively. "Help me push this." He gestured to a cabinet standing against the wall.
Porthos nodded and moved into place. The two manoeuvred it until it was standing at the top of the stairs.
"I really hope this wasn't expensive." The marksman murmured as the two men heaved it over the edge.
There was a moment when the cumbersome piece seemed to fall in slow motion. Then it sped up, hurtling end over end and exploding into pieces of wood and glass as it hit the landing below.
The gunfire coming from Athos and d'Artagnan's room seemed to pause for a moment, but Porthos and Aramis had no time to contemplate what that meant, as four other men appeared at the foot of the stairs and began firing on them.
The two Musketeers threw themselves out of the way as bullets flew past them. They ended up on opposite sides of the landing to each other and it was then that Porthos felt the plan sliding away from them.
He and Aramis were meant stay together to guard each other's backs, but there was no time for that now.
"Split up." He yelled as men crested the stairs with shouts of anger, firing again.
Porthos ran into one of the bedrooms and Aramis scrambled into what appeared to be an art studio.
He had a fraction of a second to admire the paintings before two men burst in the room. Aramis dived behind a settee as bullets pierced the space where he'd been standing.
He raised himself above the furniture and fired once from each of his pistols at the two men, who ducked and took cover behind arm chairs further down the room.
Aramis reloaded as they shot at him again and he felt a bullet punch into the dense fabric of the settee near his shoulder.
He looked over his makeshift parapet, waiting until he saw movement from the brown-haired man, before firing quickly.
A cry of pain told him he'd hit his mark. The blonde-haired man shot at him with a shout of annoyance and Aramis felt a bullet whistle past his ear as he ducked back down.
He fired another round, noticing that the brown-haired man was still shooting. Not fatally wounded then. He thought, feeling both relief and concern.
Aramis never enjoyed taking lives, but in this situation, if he didn't stop these men, it would likely be his own life that was forfeit.
He waited until he was relatively sure the other men were out of ammunition before shouting, "If you give yourselves up now, you'll receive a fair trial at the hands of the King's court."
"It's two against one, Musketeer, why don't you give yourself up?"
"I'm not the one breaking the law and holding innocent people hostage."
"Innocent." One of the men scoffed, before the other muttered something to him that Aramis couldn't hear. He checked his ammunition. He had two shots left. Better make them count.
His next move was a risk, but he had to draw them out and end this. Springing up from behind the settee, he ran towards where the men were hiding, pistol primed.
The injured man, seeing him coming, jumped up and fired, but his shot was too late; Aramis's own bullet already left its barrel. It hit the man squarely in the chest and he fell. A second later, the man's bullet grazed the Musketeer in the shoulder.
The force of it knocked Aramis back half a step so he was in front of a window.
The blonde-haired man, seeing his friend dead, roared and threw himself at Aramis.
The marksman had just enough time to think that he'd miscalculated about them being out of ammunition, when the other man drew a sword. Aramis drew his own, whip fast, and parried the blow.
He tried to get his musket up to shoot, but the other man, fuelled by anger, launched a barrage of strikes, pressing Aramis back against the window.
Aramis could feel blood dripping from the gash in his shoulder. The bullet had grazed his sword arm and there was a heaviness there that made it harder to fight than normal.
The two crossed blades several more times before there were footsteps in the hallway.
"Aramis?" Porthos shouted as he ran into the room. "Aramis!" He yelled, seeing his brother in danger.
He started to run to help the marksman, just as another gang member entered the room, musket raised.
He aimed the weapon at Porthos, who was closing in on Aramis and his opponent.
"No!" Aramis shouted in alarm. With a strength borne of adrenaline, Aramis shoved the other man away from him and fired his last shot at the newcomer.
The bullet hit him in the ribs and propelled his body sideways, making his own shot go wide and miss Porthos.
"Julien, NO!" Aramis's opponent screamed in anguish, turning and throwing his whole body at Aramis.
The blonde man slammed into him so hard that he knocked both Aramis's pistol and sword from his grasp. The two of them hit the window and the force of their combined weight smashed the glass in the lower panes, sending them straight through the frame.
Aramis thought he could hear the sound of Porthos bellowing in the distance as he became weightless. There was a timeless moment of falling before his instincts kicked in and he twisted, catching hold of the window with his left hand.
His body slammed against the outside of the building and right his arm wrenched as the other man grabbed onto his free arm. Aramis cried out in pain, as the shoulder bearing the bullet wound was suddenly put under the immense pressure of holding up another body.
"Aramis!"
Porthos appeared above him and caught his arm as he began to slip. "Hold onto me." He demanded.
Aramis let go of the window so he could grip Porthos's arm, but then realised that he'd given his brother a large burden.
"Hold on!" Porthos shouted, straining from the weight of the two men.
Blood was slowly running down Aramis's arm, making the other man's grip on him slick and tenuous. Terrified that he might fall, the man began to try and pull himself up higher.
Aramis groaned in pain as this pulled on his bullet wound.
"Stop moving!" Porthos yelled at the blonde man, as he unbalanced their precarious equilibrium and Aramis slipped down Porthos's arms.
The man cursed at Porthos and continued trying to pull himself back towards the window.
Porthos gritted his teeth and yelled again.
Aramis realised that all the movement was slowly pulling Porthos further out of the window.
"Porthos." He said calmly. "You have to let go."
"What?!" Porthos sounded horrified. "Don't be stupid, Aramis." He growled.
"You have to." Aramis stated again. "You can't keep holding our combined weight, it's going to pull you over the edge."
"Aramis." Porthos said, and there was a desperate plea in his tone. "Just hang on OK? I am not letting go of you, you hear? No way." His had tone turned angry.
"Porthos, I don't want to see you fall too."
"You're not going to fall." Porthos asserted so resolutely that Aramis almost believed him. But even as he said it, the marksman slipped a little further.
Aramis chuckled painfully. "Aren't I meant to be bailing you out? How did it end up being the other way around?"
Porthos huffed out a laugh, clinging to Aramis as hard as he could. "Bad things happen when we split up. This is why I need you around, so we can stick together."
"We always made a good team." Aramis smiled, looking fond.
It looked to Porthos like the expression of a man who had accepted his fate. And it terrified him.
Suddenly there was a noise behind him and Porthos turned his head to see another of the gang members running into the room.
A bullet pinged past him and he swore violently.
"Porhos," Aramis said urgently, "let go."
"No." Porthos growled, still holding on tightly.
Aramis was fearful that his brother was going to get shot because he refused to let go of him, so he took matters into his own hands and loosened his grip on Porthos's arm.
Porthos, realising what Aramis was doing, yelled and redoubled his efforts to hold on, but the marksman dropped down so that only their hands were joined now.
The taller Musketeer was yelling Aramis's name again, entreating him to hold on, when several things happened at once.
Another bullet flew so close to Porthos that Aramis thought for sure he'd been hit. At the same time, d'Artgnan and Athos crashed into the room, weapons drawn and Athos shot the other gang member who'd been turning towards them.
As the man's body hit the floor, the blonde man pulling Aramis down lost his grip on the Musketeer's blood soaked arm and fell towards the ground with a scream.
Aramis made a sound of protest, even though there was nothing he could do, and he stared in shock as the body hit the grass.
Above him Porthos was shouting something to Athos and d'Artagnan and then suddenly the two of them were there leaning out the window, trying to reach him.
With half his burden eased, Porthos managed to pull Aramis up so that both of their arms were now locked around each other.
"Got you." He said looking into Aramis's eyes, relief evident in his expression.
He lifted Aramis a little higher so that d'Artagnan and Athos were both able to grab onto him too, and together, the three of them pulled their brother back through the broken window, taking care to avoid the shards of glass littering the frame.
They sank down to the floor together and Porthos held Aramis close, like he couldn't bear to let go of him just yet.
"Thank you." Aramis said sincerely, feeling slightly out of breath.
"Are you alright?" Athos asked, noticing Aramis's bleeding arm.
"It's just a graze." Aramis said, as the older Musketeer pulled open the rip in his jacket to inspect it. "What of the other men?"
"Five dead, four captured." Athos replied, indicating that Aramis should take his jacket off. Aramis gingerly shrugged out of it.
"Once we'd subdued the men that came after us, we went back for the man holding the Comte hostage." D'Artagnan filled them in. "Athos knocked him out and tied him up. According to the Comte, the men are part of a local gang; they broke in seven days ago and have been holding the Comte, his wife, and their staff hostage since, demanding money and land. Some of the staff were killed and others fled for the nearby village, but their leader sent riders to hunt them down."
"Those must have been the graves we saw out front." Porthos surmised, looking wrathful.
D'Artagnan nodded. "What happened to you?" He asked.
"I took out two men and then came in 'ere to find Aramis and that maniac duelling. He damn near killed him."
"I'm fine, Porthos." Aramis reassured him.
Athos finished his inspection of Aramis's shoulder and collected some nearby cloth from an easel. After checking it was clean, he began bandaging the wound.
"Fine is perhaps an overestimation, but the bullet wound is thankfully just a graze. He'll live."
"But he almost didn't." Porthos growled. "If that scumbag wasn't dead, I'd kill him myself."
"Unfortunately a three-storey drop beat you to it." Athos said in his usual dry tone. "Come, we must settle things here and send for Treville."
The four stood and made their way downstairs. Porthos hovered near Aramis, reluctant to stray to far from his brother after the events of the afternoon.
Sundown saw Treville and other Musketeers from the regiment arrive. Once the Inseparables had delivered their report, Treville thanked them for their efforts in saving the Comte's life and then bid them return to Paris and rest.
The four rode back and arrived at the Garrison after dark. Aramis went to see Doctor Lemay to have him switch his wound and then returned to his room.
He wasn't surprised to find Porthos waiting outside of it, leaning against the wall.
"What did Lemay say?" He asked as Aramis opened the door and let them both in.
"The wound is just a graze, as I thought. He stitched it up and wants check on it again in a few days. In the mean time, I just need to keep it clean. I've wrenched my other arm, but little can be done about that other than to rest it."
He turned to Porthos. "Do you want a drink?"
"No, thanks." Porthos paused before adding, "are we not going to talk about what happened earlier?"
"What do you mean?" Aramis sounded completely calm, but he could see the storm brewing in Porthos's expression.
"I mean when you let go and tried to fall three storeys to your death." Porthos said, voice rising, despite his best efforts to keep it in check. He didn't want to berate Aramis, he just wanted to understand why the other man had done what he'd done.
"I couldn't see any other way out of the situation." Aramis said sighing. "I thought we were either going to pull you out of the window with us, or you were about to get shot because you wouldn't let go."
"So you tried to make me drop you?!" Porthos sounded angry now.
"No," Aramis said quietly, "I tried to save your life."
"By giving up yours?"
"If that's what it takes, yes."
"Well, don't!"
Porthos crossed the room in three short strides so that he was right in front of Aramis. The marksman wondered if Porthos was about to punch him, he certainly looked irate enough to, but instead, the larger man grasped hold of Aramis and enfolded him into a hug.
The medic had a moment of complete surprise, before he returned the hug warmly.
"Thought you were about to punch me." He said into Porthos's shoulder.
"I considered it." Porthos replied, before breaking off the hug and looking at Aramis seriously.
"Don't ever do that again." He said quietly. "Don't ever stop fighting like that. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."
"And I you. Which is why I did it. I would rather forefeit my own life if it meant you'd live than have to watch you die." Aramis said earnestly.
Understanding dawned in Porthos's expression and he looked rueful.
"You know I'd do the same for you. But I don't ever want to see you die Aramis."
"Then, how about we just both agree to say alive instead." Aramis said with a wry smile.
Porthos chuckled. "Alright, agreed. But I'm going to keep bailing you out if you keep getting yourself into trouble."
"I thought that was my job?"
"Well," Porthos said, looking in much better spirits, "perhaps sometimes we'll have to bail each other out so we can fight another day."
Aramis couldn't have agreed more.