A/N: Hello everyone! It has been so, soo long since I've been able to post anything here. Twenty-two credits hours a semester in college is not a joke. Anyways.
This is a brand new fic, and it centers around Porthos who has been severely neglected in my writings thus far. I've been focusing on Athos and d'Artagnan because I adore their relationship in the books and in the show, but I think it's time to switch and talk about Porthos. He's an amazing character with a lot of potential and I can't wait to start developing it. Hopefully, this turns out the way I imagine it will.
All mistakes are mine, as always. Any characters you recognize are not mine. (Any characters you don't are mine). All I have are student debts, please don't sue me.
If you read it and like it, great. If you like it enough to leave a review, that's even better. If you didn't like it but you still want to leave a review, that's fine too :).
Happy Holidays, everyone!
"And the road leads to nowhere
And the castle stays the same
And the father tells the mother
Wait for the rain."
-David Hess
The forest lay quiet. Twilight crept in through the cracks in the canopy and replaced the dying embers of sunset. The muted sound of horse hooves against the worn dirt path spiraled up into the air and back into silence as if they'd never been. Five dark riders moved swiftly through the gathering darkness. Every now and then, one of them would glance behind with a wary, desperate look as though they were being watched. Only the empty road greeted them.
Behind a tree several hundred yards up, Athos crouched without impatience. He glanced to his right where Aramis was hidden.
"The one in front is Garnier," he said quietly. "He's suspected in the attempted murder of a noble in the house de Lorraine. The rest are accomplices, all of whom have evaded arrest for months. We have orders to bring Garnier to Paris alive. He's to appear before the King for questioning."
"And the others?" Aramis murmured back.
Athos just gave him a flat, blank look. "His Majesty didn't say."
Giving one brief nod, the marksman pulled the pistols silently from their holsters. Athos looked to his left and saw Porthos and d'Artagnan shifting and getting ready to spring from their concealment. Get ready, he mouthed. They nodded tensely and waited for the inevitable.
The sound of hooves beating the ground came closer. Aramis closed his eyes briefly, sending out a silent, not-quite prayer. Just as the riders approached their hiding place, the four soldiers sprang into action.
Jumping out into the road, the musketeers stood shoulder to shoulder. Four pistols were fired with a single, dry retort.
Two of the approaching riders fell in crumpled heaps from their horses. The third received a ball through the shoulder and cried out with pain but continued. The other two were untouched and spurred their horses into a gallop. Athos tossed his spent pistol to the side and pulled his sword. His eyes widened as he realized the brigands had no intention of stopping.
Leaping to his left, he landed hard on the ground. The musketeer heard d'Artagnan grunt out a wheezing curse from his right as the Gascon followed suit. Aramis ran backwards and narrowly avoided being trampled. Porthos alone remained in the road, looking steadfastly at the leader through the whirlwind of dust.
The criminal's face was hidden by a hat with a wide brim, pulled down low. His frame was lean and the cloak he wore billowed behind him, masking his true size. The rider looked calm, but his horse's mouth was bloody from the cruel sawing of the bit. The poor beast shuddered and gasped with every step, hide flecked with white foam and lathered in sweat.
Porthos pulled his sword and quickly sidestepped in an agile movement that would have dropped jaws even in the musketeer garrison. Bringing the blade close, he sliced in an outwards motion and felt the tip of sword slice through the leather girth. The horse whinnied in pain and bolted. The hapless rider slid sideways off the horse and tumbled hard onto the ground. The saddle landed next to him with a dull thud.
The musketeer immediately advanced towards the man, who sprang to his feet and pulled his sword. Porthos pressed him with a flurry of attacks and the clashing of metal rent the air. The other musketeers ran towards their comrade, while the other three criminals had dismounted to contend with them.
The moments stretched into infinities, punctuated by heavy blows that jarred muscles and threatened lives. Athos disarmed his opponent and Aramis killed his by piercing him through in a quick motion. D'Artagnan was still fighting his, but Athos could see that the Gascon was skillfully handling the onslaught of blows coming towards him.
Porthos fought hard, sweat pouring down his face and feeling fatigue grow in his muscles. The leader seemed to be made of iron; he refused to yield. Redoubling his efforts, the musketeers attacked him ferociously. For a moment, he seemed to have an advantage as his opponent struggled. Then he adjusted and flew at the musketeer quickly.
Porthos bit back a cry of pain as the steel bit into his shoulder and another nick appeared on his left thigh. A third sting of pain in his side. A shot rang out, and a ball took Porthos' hat off his head and scraped across his temple, leaving a stinging track in its wake.
The criminal who had fired was lining up for a second shot when d'Artagnan tackled him and sent them both rolling on the ground. The Gascon punched every part of the bandit he could reach. Aramis rushed forward to help, but d'Artagnan cocked his fist and brought it down with all his might on the assailant's chin. The man went limp instantly.
Up the road several paces, Porthos blinked the blood out of his eye and lifted his exposed face towards Garnier, who instantly sprang back.
Under the low brim of the hat, the large musketeer could see the cold gleam of silvery eyes for a moment before the man began running as fast as he could. Porthos began running after him, but Garnier was much swifter. Before any of the musketeers had time to reload their pistols, the criminal had caught his horse, swung onto its bareback and galloped away with his hands knotted in the horse's mane.
Porthos stopped, his side aching and stinging. The blood rolled in thick drops from his various wounds.
"Damn it!" he yelled, looking at the retreating back of the criminal.
The other musketeers ran to his side. Aramis was pale as he reached Porthos, looking intently at the side of his face.
"It just grazed you," the medic said, unable to hide the relief in his voice.
"It's fine. I should have shot that bastard when I had the chance," the large musketeer replied angrily.
"Easy," d'Artagnan said, jogging over and brushing the dirt from his clothing. "It wasn't a total loss; the one that shot at you is just knocked out."
"We can bring him in for questioning, at least," Athos said, resigning himself to the hot look of resentment they would receive from the King, and the far more potent anger they would receive from Treville.
Aramis pulled a face like he knew exactly what the eldest musketeer was thinking, then glanced back to Porthos' face which had darkened with anger. He sighed, then stood straighter.
"Well, let's get back to Paris, then."
LINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREALINEBREALINBEREALIN
Working together, they were able to construct a rough travois and hauled the unconscious bandit back to Paris without incident. They carried the man into the garrison. Despite the hour, the torches were lit and the yard was occupied with roughly twenty soldiers cleaning arms, training, or talking quietly. With a sinking heart, d'Artagnan tried to ignore all the inquiring stares in his direction as he trudged up the stairs towards the Captain's office. Athos gave a quiet order to one of the lieutenants to have the criminal taken to the infirmary and kept under watch.
Treville stood up as soon as the door to his office opened. He didn't say anything for a moment, just eyed the men. His gaze lingered on Porthos as he noticed the various wounds, but his only reaction was one raised eyebrow.
"Report," he intoned sharply.
D'Artagnan winced.
"We apprehended them on the road towards Amiens," Athos began, naturally taking the role of leader.
"Four of the criminals were killed in battle. Garnier escaped," he said shortly, deciding brevity was the best course of action.
Treville's jaw tightened.
"You were given an order," he said, his voice quiet and controlled. "The King expects to question Garnier tomorrow morning and determine who is trying to kill the head of the de Lorraine house-"
"I take full responsibility, Captain. I was the closest to him," Porthos spoke up in a rough voice. His body ached, and his head felt fuzzy. All he wanted was to sleep for a night. Or for a year.
Treville looked at him again.
"Get to the infirmary," he said finally. "You're bleeding on my floor. We can discuss this tomorrow morning. I expect to see you all here directly after muster. Understood?"
They nodded hastily and shuffled out as fast as they could. Porthos stumbled a little over the threshold and Aramis caught him by the elbow in quick concern.
"Let's get you looked at," he said sympathetically.
D'Artagnan disappeared to the kitchens to ask for some clean water and a little food. Athos followed the other two to the infirmary.
Porthos was deposited carefully onto a cot and closed his eyes immediately. He was asleep and snoring before Aramis had finished bandaging the various wounds on his limbs.
Athos smiled ruefully as he looked at his companion.
"He must have been completely wiped out," he intoned dryly.
"It was a long day," Aramis said, scrubbing a hand across his eyes.
D'Artagnan quietly opened the door, laden with breads, cheeses and some smoked meats. The others accepted the food silently, nodding their thanks.
"How is he?" the Gascon asked, inclining his head towards the sleeping Porthos.
"He's alright. Just a few nicks, nothing that demands stitching. He'll be sore for a little while, is all. The bullet only grazed his temple," Aramis said, paling slightly at how close it had been.
"We should all get some sleep," d'Artagnan remarked quietly. "We have to be up in a few hours to make our excuses to the King."
Athos sighed but left without further word. The Gascon nodded to Aramis as he prepared to trudge back to his lodgings.
Left alone with his peacefully sleeping friend, Aramis took a moment to kiss the cross hanging around his neck and whisper thanks for the life spared.
LINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAKLINEBREAK
The sky slowly brightened in a gray, lifeless dawn. The four soldiers plodded to Treville's office and mounted the stairs without cheer.
However little the musketeers had slept, the Captain slept even less. Treville looked as exhausted as Porthos felt.
"How are you feeling?" he asked the large musketeer immediately.
"Fine, sir," he responded quickly, standing up straighter and ignoring the twinges of pain.
Treville nodded abstractedly. It was easy to see that his mind was on other things.
"I don't think I need to tell you four what yesterday meant," Treville started. "The one you took captive yesterday was questioned thoroughly; he stated he was ignorant of the affair. Nothing could induce him to speak."
Aramis sighed. "Looks like we'll have to do this the hard way."
"Garnier needs to be brought in," Athos agreed, sighing and leaning tiredly against the pale wall. "The other nobles in the house of de Lorraine are threatening to withdraw their resources and support to the Crown if we don't find the man responsible for the attempted murder of Gabrielle de Lorraine."
"She is the matriarch of the living members. If she falls, the cousins and related lesser family will quarrel over who claims authority and the integrity of the house will be lost," Aramis added, glancing back down at the scarred surface of the Captain's desk.
"Are we sure that Garnier is the prime suspect?" the Gascon asked. "It seems to me that any one of them could have done it…"
"He has the most to gain from Madame de Lorraine's death, and he has a criminal history," Treville said firmly. "The matriarch was given a piece of poisoned sillaby at a fete by a young servant."
"Poisoned candy?" d'Artagnan asked, screwing up his face. "That's pretty crude. Couldn't he have devised a better way to assassinate her?"
"The fete had multiple guards and security posted everywhere. Garnier couldn't be anywhere near it, yet we believe he's behind this attempt," Treville replied.
Porthos' brow creased slightly. Something about the situation didn't sit right.
"Luckily, Madame de Lorraine gave it to her personal aide because she doesn't care for sillaby; the servant isn't dead, but she's in critical condition," the Captain continued. "The dining staff was questioned, but they don't know anything at all about how or why it was poisoned."
There was a pause and silence fell over the room for a moment.
"We need a plan," Treville said, looking at the men one by one. "I've thought it over, and I think I have the solution."
"Aramis, Athos and d'Artagnan, you are to follow Garnier. Bring him in and stop him before he can finish what he's started."
"What about me?" Porthos spoke up, growing increasingly alarmed at the orders.
Treville sighed. "I've talked it over with the nobles, and they agree. You are to go to the estate de Lorraine and protect the matriarch."
"What?" Porthos demanded sharply. "Why?"
"With all due respect, sir, Porthos could be more useful on the road with us—" Aramis began.
"Garnier saw you," the Captain said. "According to your own account, he looked directly into your face. A man like that wouldn't easily forget. Just sending the three of you would be enough to cause suspicion, but after what happened last time with Vadim…"
His voice trailed off and the Gascon cast his gaze shamefully to the floor, rubbing the back of his head as he remembered how he had very nearly brought about the ruin of France's fortune.
"Porthos, you will guard the matriarch and serve as her aid. Keep your eyes and ears open, pay attention to everyone around her. The rest of the family may not even be aware that she's a target; she needs to keep it that way. If they were to find out, it could be construed as a weakness and someone else may take advantage of the situation."
"Captain—" Athos began.
"Enough!" Treville held up his hand, and real anger sparked in his eyes. "This is the best option for apprehending Garnier and stopping this whole damnable business. I'm sorry, but it's already been decided."
Aramis' jaw stuck out mutinously, and d'Artagnan looked upset. Porthos wished he could sink into the floor.
"I'll go and make our excuses to the King," Treville said, clearly preparing himself for the ordeal. "You are to leave within the hour. A servant named Caton is waiting to conduct you to the estates, Porthos. When you are ready, he will take you there."
Athos turned on his heel and exited after this obvious dismissal, and the other three soldiers followed him gloomily. Reaching the courtyard, they turned to face each other. Aramis and Porthos looked miserable, while d'Artagnan shoved his hands in his pockets dejectedly.
"We have our orders," Athos said hollowly, stone-faced with anger.
"It'll only be for a little while," Aramis said bracingly. "It can't take more than a few weeks to apprehend Garnier. When he's brought in, we'll all return."
They looked at each other disconsolately. Porthos' ears rang dully with the words as he realized he'd be separated from the others for the foreseeable future.
They embraced, then parted. Three soldiers walked away with straight backs, one stayed and watched them go, inseparable no more.
He dragged his feet over to the stables, where he met with a small, pale young man. "You're late," Caton said, with a sharp tone that belied his frame.
"Sorry," Porthos told him listlessly, and began saddling his horse.
"It's already been prepared for you, monsieur," the servant told him disdainfully.
Porthos looked to his right and saw a beautiful roan horse, already saddled and clearly packed for the journey. He didn't try to argue, only took a last look at his own animal watching him with large eyes.
"Alright."
Caton waited impatiently while he mounted, then set off at a gallop, leaving the garrison behind them in the early morning rain.