Chapter 3: Monsieur de la Serre

Tréville rode through the gates of the garrison next to a cadet named Guillart, who he had taken with him on the mission to guard the Spanish ambassador. He jumped off his horse as soon as it came to a stop and took a look around; searching the courtyard for any signs of d'Artagnan or his three lost musketeers.

He noticed Clément by the stables and quickly ordered him to come over.

The young man dropped the pitchfork and hurried over to his captain.

"Sir?"

"Clément, have you seen d'Artagnan?"

To Tréville's growing concern, Clément shook his head.

"He hasn't returned yet."

Frustrated, Tréville ran a hand over his eyes.

His gaze locked onto Constance, who was seated next to a young woman Tréville had never seen at the garrison before. He quickly joined them.

"What's going on here?" he demanded to know and Constance looked up.

"Inès here walked into the Garrison this morning and told us that Porthos didn't arrive at their meeting near Notre-Dame yesterday. She was worried something may have happened."

Tréville let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding.

"Yes, she is not the only one."

Inès looked at him, worry and anxiety was evident in her face.

"Captain, do you have any news?"

Tréville shook his head, wearily.

"Not yet. But I should have some soon. If you'll excuse me…"

A loud nickering and the thundering of hooves interrupted the sentence he was about to say. Every person's attention turned to the gates where a horse broke through, the eyes wide open and it was panting hard.

It was saddled, but the rider missed. Tréville recognized it as one of the Garrison's horses.

Clément took it on himself to calm the frightened animal, but it took him some time. Whatever the horse had witnessed, it freaked it out very bad.

The captain walked up behind Clément and inspected the animal.

"Which horse is this?" he asked, not too familiar with the different horses at the stables.

"This is Bijou."

Tréville raised an eyebrow.

"Who took her this morning?" he asked, even though a weird feeling in his guts told him he already knew the answer.

"D'Artagnan took her, Sir."

Tréville cursed.

Whatever d'Artagnan found out, there was someone out there who didn't want Tréville to find out what happened to the other ones.

"Clément, I want you to make sure that no musketeer, none, is on his own right now. They have to form groups of two, at least, before they leave the garrison. Understood?"

The cadet nodded, and kept the horse still as Tréville mounted it quickly.

"Where are you going, captain?"

Tréville snatched the reins out of the young man's hands.

"Palace. No new search troops for d'Artagnan until I come back!" he ordered and spurred his horse into action, noticing that the cadet Guillart who accompanied him earlier followed him.

No musketeer on his own. That didn't exclude the captain.

The captain arrived at the palace twenty minutes later, left his horse with Guillart and burst the doors open loudly, making his way to the throne room.

The palace guards stared at him with a frightened look on their faces.

"Where's Rochefort?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"In the throne room, Captain, waiting for his audience with the King," one of the guards answered quickly, "do you wish to enter?"

"Get out of my way," Tréville hissed and shoved the two men out of his way, before knocking the doors open that revealed the throne room.

It was nearly empty, neither the King nor the Queen were present. Rochefort on the other hand was standing in front of a painting, examining it in a throughout way, until he heard Tréville's dramatic entrance.

"Captain. I was hoping to see you here, we have to…"

But Tréville didn't let him finish his sentence. He walked up to the Comte de Rochefort until they stood face to face.

"What did you do to them?" he said between clenched teeth, his voice quivering with anger.

Rochefort raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Don't give me that, I am no fool. I want you to tell me what you did with them and why."

Rochefort furrowed his brow even deeper, and he looked really confused.

"Would you be so kind and explain my crimes to me, captain?"

Tréville growled.

"My musketeers. Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan. They all vanished."

"And why do you think this is my doing?" the comte replied, his voice as edgy and harsh as usual.

"Don't give me that, you know exactly why…"

"What is going on here?" a voice interrupted and Tréville and Rochefort both turned around to see the King coming through the other door, accompanied by two guards.

Rochefort and Tréville bowed quickly.

"Your majesty, it is a pleasure to be graced with your presence today" Rochefort added in a bootlicking manner.

Tréville glared at the Comte to express his still very present anger, but he quickly turned all of his attention to the King.

"Your majesty, an incident this morning at the musketeer garrison. I assumed Rochefort may have some information about it, so I asked him. Politely."

He nervously cleared his throat, waiting for the King to say something.

"What kind of incident are we talking about here, Captain?" Louis asked and his gaze wandered over the assembled men.

"Four of my musketeers disappeared, Sire. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan are missing."

The King looked surprised." Now, it's always them, isn't it?" He smiled, but Tréville's face seemed to concern him. "And what do you assume might have happened?" he asked.

"I was about to ask Rochefort if he may have heard something from the red guards. I am forced to expect that something unpleasant happened to them."

It was Rochefort who posed the question Tréville was already prepared for.

"Why? For what I know of the musketeer's reputation, they could as well have fallen into the Seine because they were drunk."

Tréville bristled with anger, but he tried to control himself as he turned towards the King.

"With all my respect, Sire, but my musketeers take their duty very seriously. Three of them seemed to have disappeared yesterday. I sent d'Artagnan out this morning to look for them. His horse returned half an hour ago, scared and without its rider."

The King nodded, his face pensive.

"And what do you want me to do now, Tréville?"

Tréville hesitated for a second, before he answered, choosing his words carefully.

"It is my duty to inform you about your men, your majesty. In addition, I was hoping the red guards could take over some of the musketeer's duties until we find out what happened."

The King eyed him suspiciously for a second. Tréville knew that Louis was still angry with him because he refused the title of the First Minister, but maybe that was one more reason why he would be inclined to follow Tréville's suggestions.

"Very well, Tréville," the King said and it took a load of Tréville's mind, "but I want you to take care of this business as fast as possible. A representative of the British crown is expected at the palace in five days. I want my musketeers to be there, all of them."

Tréville took a bow.

"You are dismissed, captain", the King continued and stood up straight.

"If you allow, your Majesty, I will conduct the captain to the exit, before we talk," Rochefort injected.

The King didn't look pleased, but he didn't say anything.

Rochefort, much to Tréville's disgust, walked very closely to the captain.

"I have nothing to do with the disappearance of your musketeers", the comte snarled into his ear, and Tréville didn't even bother to look at him, "but after what happened in this tavern fight two nights ago, I can not say that I am sorry. The red guard will not help you with the search."

Tréville harrumphed as they reached the large doors.

"I didn't expect you to", he shot back and eyed Rochefort with an ice-cold glare. "Help and support are deeds reserved for the honorable."

He left the palace through the doors, feeling Rochefort's stare in his back. But, much to Tréville's dismay, it was the first time he actually did believe the words coming out of the comte de Rochefort's mouth.

The first thing he was aware of was the constant pounding in his head, a steady and annoying sensation that pulled him from the darkness of unconsciousness.

"I think he is waking…" a voice whispered, not too far away from him.

"Claude, come over here…" another voice, a female one, called softly.

D'Artagnan slowly became aware of his circumstances. His eyes were still closed, but his other senses regained their usual attentiveness.

He heard voices speaking with each other, rapidly and quietly, obviously nervous about what was to come. D'Artagnan was seated on a chair, his head sunken on his chest, and his hands were tied behind his back with thick and raw ropes.

The air smelled like a mix of cattle and burned wood, a scent one could barely catch in the city of Paris. It remembered d'Artagnan of his years before he became a musketeer, so he inspected he must be somewhere on the countryside. A farm maybe. A village.

His foggy mind tried to remember what exactly had happened.

His friends missing. Ambushed, kidnapped. Barely a trace where they might've gone. Blacksmith, the dagger. His horse running away. A voice apologizing before knocking him out. Hard.

As realization hit him, his eyes snapped open immediately. He winced at the blinding light that poured through the window nearby and he needed to blink multiple times to clear his vision.

D'Artagnan took a second to take in every detail of the room he was in. Even though it was a small one, it was definitely inherited by a noble family. The portraits on the wall as well as the pompous candleholders on neatly processed wooden commodes confirmed that. Dark red curtains framed the only window in the room, and judging by the height of the tree in front of the window d'Artagnan guessed he was at least on the second floor of a building.

Still, the chair he was bound to, was a simple wooden one, nothing more than an old bar chair.

Four people were assembled in the room.

A man, maybe in his late forties, leaned against the door, his face cleanly shaven, his brown hair clamped behind his ears. A scar ran over his temple, giving the man a rather scary appearance.

A woman, about the same age, was seated on a chair on the other side of the room. She wore a dress in a dark blue color, her décolleté adorned with a pendant of white crystals. Her dark blonde hair was pinned up, covered by a neat hat.

Behind her was a huge man, a grim smile over his face. He sported a black eye and a dried trail of blood darkening the left side of his face. His dark hair was ridiculously long, and a bushy beard completed his barbarian appearance.

Kneeling on the floor in front of d'Artagnan was the last man, short, brown hair, and a well-groomed mustache covering his mouth. He had a hand on d'Artagnan's arm, and the Gascon shrank back immediately due to the touch, feeling truly uncomfortable.

"Whoa, easy pal. I'm not going to hurt you."

D'Artagnan breathed heavily, trying to tame the panic rising up in his chest.

"Who are you?" he growled, struggling against the ropes around his wrists.

"My name is Dorian de la Serre," the older man leaning by the door spoke, "that is my wife Cristina and my son Claude. And this grim looking gent over there is Gustav."

D'Artagnan's eyes wandered over the people, connecting the names he just heard with the faces. He didn't recall meeting any one of them at any point of his life.

"You are probably wondering what is going on," Claude started with a gentle voice.

"I know very well what is going on," d'Artagnan spat and narrowed his eyes, "you kidnapped me. My friends too, probably. You have any idea what you've done?"

Claude sighed.

"What is your name, boy?" he asked.

D'Artagnan growled at the term. He was used to it coming out of his brothers' mouths, but he was a full musketeer, for god's sake, not some lost farm boy anymore.

"D'Artagnan."

"Okay, d'Artagnan. I swear it is not exactly what it looks like. Please, would you let me explain? I'm willing to cut the ropes if you promise to listen."

D'Artagnan bit his lip, unsure what to reply. He would take any chance to get out of these bindings, so he nodded hesitantly.

Claude rounded the chair, pulled out a knife and with a swift move, he cut through the rope.

The second d'Artagnan wrangled his hands free, he jumped on his feet, hitting Claude with his elbow backwards. Before he had the chance to run to the door, he noticed Gustav leaping forward, with much more agility d'Artagnan had expected from a man his size.

Cristina screeched frightened, and shielded her eyes from the fight.

The Gascon launched an attack with his fist at the large man, but Gustav blocked it with his hand, wrapping his arms around d'Artagnan's body shortly after, blocking any other attack that might follow.

"That's not what I understand under listening" Dorian de la Serre commented dryly.

"You kidnapped me. What good intentions could you possibly have?" d'Artagnan roared and struggled against the headlock he was now held in.

"We brought you here to ask for your help. Please, listen to us, then you might understand."

D'Artagnan tapped Gustav's arm to say that he cooperated. The bigger man let go, but as d'Artagnan walked two steps back to his chair, the giant followed him.

"So?"

D'Artagnan eyed them all expectantly, his anger flowing hot through his veins.

"D'Artagnan, I am the Baron de la Serre," Dorian began and looked him into the eyes, "I own this house and this estate, where civilians built a few houses and live under my rule. We have been attacked multiple times in the last month. My letters to the palace have been ignored."

He finished, and glared at his son, as if to wait if he was going to add something.

Claude sighed.

"So we decided we had to take things into our own hands, fight on our own."

D'Artagnan looked confused.

"I don't understand. Who is attacking you, and why?"

"The Baron de Terré. A young and brutal man, who is enslaving his people and forcing them to fight for him."

"Isn't that what you are doing right now?" d'Artagnan chipped in with a sour tone.

"Not really, Monsieur," Cristina answered sharply, "we are desperate, but we are neither enslaving you nor forcing you to do something. We just want you to listen. The King ignored our pleading for justice. The Baron de Terré captivated some of our people, and we still don't know what he does to them."

D'Artagnan forced himself to calm his nerves, and tried to think straight.

"When was the last attack?"

Claude raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the interest d'Artagnan showed so suddenly.

"Two weeks ago. We defeated them for the first time, so now de Terré needs to regroup his men, maybe hire some more. I saw his men in Paris. We are at our limits. That's when I decided to go to Paris and see if I can find anyone to fight for our cause."

D'Artagnan snorted.

"Well, what exactly is your cause? How do I know you bear no ill-will against me?"

Claude strode over to him and nudged him by the shoulder.

"The Baron de Terré declared war the moment my father forbid the marriage with my sister. The baron raided our estate, enslaved our people and continues to attack us until he can have my sister."

"So you made prisoners yourself!" d'Artagnan hissed, still mad about the circumstances of his unplanned stay at this estate.

Claude looked at him, and d'Artagnan could see unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. D'Artagnan wasn't as good of a judge of character as Aramis or Athos were, but the desperation this man expressed was honest.

"You are free to go, if you wish. We just asked for your help. You musketeers have a reputation of standing up for justice, and to defend the helpless. I am sorry if we were wrong."

A strange feeling in his gut told d'Artagnan to stay. These people in front of him were noble, rich people, but they looked absolutely helpless.

"You could've just asked for help if you needed it. There was no need for a violent kidnapping," d'Artagnan interjected.

Gustav grunted.

"As Madame de la Serre pointed out already, the King ignored us. And he would never allow his elite guard to help out in some small nobleman's dispute."

D'Artagnan noticed Dorian eyeing Gustav warningly.

"If you'd had just gone with us, you'd probably have huge quarrel with the law. Or the King himself. So basically, you can thank us."

D'Artagnan scowled.

"I'll appreciate it as soon as the ringing in my head stops, thank you."

Claude shrugged.

"We didn't see another choice. We are not brutes. We are just desperate people trying to defend what's ours. And we needed musketeer's help. I saw you with three of your friends two nights ago at the bar. And I realized there is a reason why you are the King's elite guard. That's what makes your help so valuable."

D'Artagnan huffed an ironic laugh.

"What makes you think I'll help you?"

Dorian cleared his throat.

"You are still here."

Cristina rose from her chair and took d'Artagnan's hand, her eyes pleading for understanding.

"I know we seem like the bad guys. Kidnapping and capturing musketeers wasn't our finest hour. But we didn't know what else to do. If we don't get your help, we are doomed."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath.

"I…"

A loud crack echoed through the house, and a deep voice was shouting not too far away from this room.

Every muscle in his body was tense as he hurried over to the door. Nobody stopped him.

"I am not the only kidnapped musketeer, am I?" he asked angrily, not even waiting for an answer before he stormed out of the door.

It was Claude who kept up with him, walking backwards as d'Artagnan searched for the source of the voice.

"You are not the only one, but you are the first one to be cooperative with us. The musketeer we have locked in one of our wine cellars, he didn't want to listen to us and never stopped trying to throw punches. He doesn't seem reasonable."

D'Artagnan stopped as he remembered his friends that vanished the day before.

"How long has he been down there?"

Claude shrugged.

"A day."

"You abducted him from Paris too, did you?"

Claude nodded.

"He was one of the men in the tavern with you. I found him near Notre-Dame, and held him at gunpoint until he agreed to come with me to this estate. Once we arrived, he was out of control."

D'Artagnan growled.

"And you locked him in the wine cellar?"

Claude nodded.

"We did."

"That's going to be really expensive for you."

As if to confirm what d'Artagnan just said, the sound of glass shattering echoed through the house, and d'Artagnan took the stairs that went down.

"Lead me to him."

Claude nodded and led him through the mansion. The employees froze in their spots, terrified of the angry musketeer running around in the house without any bonds. He was unarmed, but d'Artagnan could just imagine what he looked like.

Also, the men they served, Baron de la Serre and his family, basically just committed treason to the crown by abducting musketeers.

Claude came to a stop in front of a thick, wooden door that was guarded by a tall and wiry man, not older than seventeen.

"That's Jorac, the miller's son."

D'Artagnan briefly nodded and gestured to the door. The constant banging from the inside grew louder.

"Open it."

Claude took the keys from Jorac.

"Are you sure, d'Artagnan? This man is out of control. He is insane."

D'Artagnan genuinely laughed.

"No offense, but do you want his help? Do you want to have use of his skills?"

Claude's face was puzzled.

"Of course. The man is a berserk. Truly terrifying."

"But he knows me. He will listen to me."

Claude shrugged.

"Okay. I trust you."

And he opened up the door. Within moments, a furious Porthos came stumbling out of the dark cellar, his hands covered in wine and he smelled awful. His hands were flailing around, and d'Artagnan prevented himself from being punched in the face by taking a step back last second.

"Finally, you cowards. I've been planning this ever since…." He stopped his ranting as he laid eyes on d'Artagnan.

"Whelp?" he asked, as if he wasn't sure his eyes were not betraying him.

"It's alright, Porthos," d'Artagnan said and reached out for his friend's shoulder.

Porthos looked really confused.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

D'Artagnan grimaced.

"Well, I was looking for you. It took me some uninspected detours, but well, I found you."

"Great," Porthos mumbled, and clumped his way to the door, "can we leave now?"

D'Artagnan exchanged a quick look with Claude, who stared at him with so much desperation d'Artagnan didn't have the heart to follow Porthos.

"Wait, Porthos," he said and raised a hand, "these people here need our help."

Porthos snorted, his eyes wide open as if he questioned d'Artagnan's sanity.

"Sure, let's help my kidnappers. Did they hit you on the head in Paris somewhere?"

D'Artagnan closed his eyes.

"Well, yes, actually they did, but that's not the point. They are my kidnappers too, Porthos, but hear them out. Promise me, you will listen to them before you leave."

Porthos scowled, but he was frozen on the spot and nodded.

"They better have a good explanation."

D'Artagnan tilted his head in a thankful gesture, before he turned to Claude again.

"Very well. Where are the others now?"

Claude looked startled.

"The others?"

"Musketeers," d'Artagnan added impatiently, "where did you take the other two men that were at the tavern that night?"

The young nobleman looked at him, and he was truly surprised by the question.

"We weren't able to find the other two men. If they disappeared, this is none of our doing."

D'Artagnan gaped at Claude, his mind trying to search for other explanations what could possibly have happened to Athos and Aramis, if they were not here.

"What does this mean, whelp?" Porthos asked and approached him.

"Athos and Aramis vanished as well. Tréville sent me out this morning to look for you three. Wait…", he stopped and whirled around to Claude who took a step back out of instincts, "didn't you say Baron de Ferrois or whatever his name was is recruiting as well? That his men were in Paris too?"

Claude nodded hesitantly.

"De Terré. And yes I saw his men."

"So, there is a possibility that my comrades are there?"

Claude furrowed his brow.

"Yes, that's not out of question if he plans to maybe sell them back to the King. But you should pray they are not."

Note: By the way, this story is set after Season 2, Episode 4, just in case anyone was wondering.