Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.


Chapter Three: Taprooms and Barmaids

"Any word?"

Athos lifted his head from his arms folded across the table. It took him a moment to figure out where he was, and who was speaking to him. Was that God? And if so, what was the Almighty doing in a seedy tavern? And why did he look like Aramis? Maybe it was Aramis. That made more sense. Now what was he doing here with Aramis at this ungodly hour?

"What time is it?"

"After sundown, nearly half past eight I'd guess."

Athos groaned and buried his face in his arms again.

"Don't blame yourself. You had every right to suspect him, and still do."

"God Aramis, it's been a month! Do you know how many excuses I've had to make to Trèville? I sent him away, not you. And if he's gotten himself killed because I couldn't trust him, then you tell me not to drown myself in this tankard of ale..." he looked into his empty mug for a moment before amending himself, "again."

Aramis sighed and called over a tavern wench to refill Athos' tankard and to bring him one. After pressing a coin into the woman's cleavage, he turned to Athos. "Porthos is not dead, and I'm about ready to strangle you out of this depression you've sunk yourself into." Athos just shrugged and buried his face deeper into his mug. Aramis sighed loudly and took a deep swig of ale. "What about Porthos' tattoo?"

"Hell, it could mean anything. It's probably a remnant from his days before becoming a Musketeer. We really don't know everything about each other you know."

"Don't put the blame on me either Athos, you came to me with your accusations remember? Not me to you, so don't get all huffy when I call you on them."

"They just seem so unfounded now without the bodies in sight. And we still don't have any answers to that."

"No we don't, because you sent Porthos away thinking he was a culprit, and now we can't get anything done because we're constantly worrying about him."

Athos whipped his head up, "I sent him away? If I remember correctly old friend, you fully agreed with my reasons."

"But I'm not the one who acted on them was I?"

"Only because you didn't suspect anything you trusting bastard!"

Athos was drunk and Aramis was belligerent, it doesn't take much more than that to cause testosterone driven males to fight, and soon the two friends were engaged in a full-scale battle in the middle of the taproom, which only concluded before they drew swords because they were interrupted.

"Are you two planning on spending the rest of the night hurling outrageous insults at each other, or were you going to greet me properly?"

Athos and Aramis turned with stunned expressions to their friend. "Porthos!" They exclaimed together.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Why didn't you send word?"

"Porthos?"

The last was given in such a dry tone that Porthos couldn't help but cringe. He turned to his companion and introduced him.

"Athos, Aramis," he pointed, "this is the rider I followed to the ends of the earth, which, by the way, are about four leagues west of Paris."

"So you are Athos," it was more of a statement that a question, and Athos treated it as such.

"Yes," All effects of his drinking binge seemed to have disappeared. Porthos' return with the suspicious rider, the damn man still had his hood up, wasn't conductive to instilling any more trust, "what difference does it make?"

The man jerked a thumb in Porthos' direction, "He told me he was Athos."

Athos raised an eyebrow at his friend, "And why would he do something like that?"

"I wasn't sure if I could trust him," Porthos hurried to explain himself, "I wasn't particularly happy with you at the time and yours was the first name that popped into my head." He stood up and bowed to the rider, "My name is Porthos, perhaps you've heard of me?"

"No."

Porthos sighed and sat back down. "Just what are they teaching kids these days?" He mumbled under his breath.

"Why are you hiding your identity?" Aramis butted in.

"Because I'm not sure how you would react to who I really am."

With that enigmatic answer, the man turned to Porthos and whispered something, at which point Porthos nodded. The man made a quick leg and left the tavern. Athos and Aramis immediately converged on Porthos with questions.

Porthos held up his hands in silent surrender. Then he told the entire story, pausing only to take long drinks from a surprisingly good mug of ale. Made better from his forced abstinence for the last month. He never noticed Athos' wry look at the fact he was drinking his cup of ale, but he didn't bother ordering another.

"And why in the world would you bring him back with you." Athos questioned.

"To keep an eye on him?"

"You don't sound very convincing Porthos." Aramis pointed out.

"Well, it wasn't exactly my idea; you see he kind of brought me back with him." Porthos mumbled this in the hopes that they wouldn't hear him.

"What!?!"

"Damnit Athos! You know I can't find my way out of an empty room. I was lost, the damn man led me around in circle that was so convoluted I'd have been lucky to tell you what country we were in. I actually thought we'd left France for a while. It's actually a rather funny story…" Porthos trailed off at the look his friends were giving him, "Well, what was I supposed to do? Starve to death in the wilderness? Speaking of starving, find me something to eat would you, I think I just might die sitting here. I haven't had a good meal in weeks."

Once Porthos had been properly fed, and nearly depleted Aramis' purse in the gaining of his meal, they began to question him on what the rider looked like and what his name was. Porthos was rather reluctant to admit he didn't know the answers, to any of their questions.

"Well, you should have been there Athos, it just wouldn't have been proper to ask." Porthos argued in his own defense.

"Proper?" Athos spluttered.

"Well, yes. We had just met and got along so well, it was a very candid partnership you see, we were quite straightforward we were." Porthos looked to Aramis for help, but Aramis was laughing at him, "It's not funny!"

"You are incorrigible! You are sent out to spy, and come home with a new friend, and you don't even know his name! It so- so- well, you, Porthos."

"What?"

"Who else could make an enemy into an ally so quickly?"

"Quickly! It was a month Aramis!"

"Yes, but you said you first talked to him today." Athos interjected.

"Well-"

"And he nearly killed you." This from Aramis.

"Yes, but-"

"Only you Porthos, only you." Athos was grinning. He couldn't help it. No matter Porthos' involvement in conspiracies or his possible treason, he was still Porthos, and quite a piece of work. "So where exactly did your new friend head off to?"

"The stables. He wants to make sure his horse was being treated well. I tell you something, that man is as devoted to his horse as most men are to their women."

"Speak of the devil." Athos and Porthos looked up at Aramis' comment. In strode the rider, who stopped at the bar only long enough to order a pint.

"So, other than the bow, which by the way is illegal, is he armed?"

"I honestly don't know." Porthos buried his face in his hands, "I am the worst Musketeer ever aren't I?"

"Certainly not the worst, remember Jean-Baptiste? He stabbed himself in the foot twelve times before Trèville told him to get lost. At least you know one end of your sword from the other."

"Thanks," Porthos didn't sound like he meant it, as a matter of fact he sounded rather sarcastic about it, but you had to take your victories where you could. Aramis' thoughts were interrupted by the man returning to the table.

"Miss me?"

"Nearly died from sorrow," Porthos replied offhandedly, still deep in self-recrimination.

Athos took one look at his friend then realized it would be up to him to get answers from the stranger. "What's your name friend?"

"Louis."

The reply was succinct, and Athos and Aramis were stunned when Porthos began to laugh so hard he fell out of his chair. From his place on the floor holding his side he apologized to Athos for interrupting.

"Well Louis," Athos ignored Porthos' fresh burst of laughter, "what brings you to Paris?"

"Someone killed my uncle, and I want to know who it was."

Athos was a bit taken aback at this. He had expected a plethora of answers, but that wasn't one of them. "And how will you know this murderer when you find him?"

"I'll know."

"Was your uncle a prominent lord that you seek vengeance for him?" Aramis asked.

The rider turned his head and Aramis could see his chin in the dim light of the tavern, "Does a man need to be prominent or even a lord to have a family who loved him?"

"I meant no offense, your love for your uncle is admirable."

"I don't love him. Hell, I didn't even like him but my cousins did, and they're expecting me to do this for them in return for a favor they did me a few years back, so I was left with no option."

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do. You see, my uncle was murdered in Chapelle Mansounx a month ago. I want to know what you know about it."

Athos openly scoffed at the man's demand and Aramis raised an eyebrow, but Porthos seemed to be expecting it, or something like it.

Athos was the first of the trio to speak, "And why should we tell you anything?"

From his vantage, Aramis was pretty sure the man smiled, "Because you're going to tell me eventually, once you decide I'm harmless, so I'm skipping that step." At the incredulous look Athos was giving him, the man shook his head, "I'm not crazy, I just don't like the bullshit everyone goes trough just to get simple questions answered. I'm blunt and I love it, so quit looking at me like I'm a leper."

"I beg your pardon?" Athos sounded stunned.

"Oh dear, what part did you miss? I don't remember my exact words, but I'll do my best to repeat whatever you didn't understand."

"I understood it all, I just…" He looked pleadingly at Aramis.

"You see, Athos was brought up… in the house of a lord, and lord's have a peculiar habit of skirting around very simple issues. I think your directness has stunned him."

"And you yourself are not a lord?"

Aramis smiled, "I have only one lord, and that is the Almighty, no accident of birth will ever change that for me."

His question unanswered, Aramis heard the man sigh deeply, "I don't see what your problem is with sharing information. I'm prepared to tell you what I already know."

"Alright," Athos agreed, "you first."

"Absolutely nothing. I was planning on starting with whatever you can give me."

A very pained expression crossed Athos' face in that moment and Aramis almost felt sorry for him. "So you want me to give you something for nothing?"

"I've told you what I know."

Athos stood and his friends rose with him. He leaned over the table and glared into the man's hood, "Nice try, but my knowledge is mine to keep until you convince me differently." As he stalked away from the table, his tunic was briefly visible under his overcoat. The man followed them from the room into the open night.

"You are a Musketeer?"

Athos turned to look at the man. "Yes." He said with a sigh.

"You swear on your honor?"

"I swear it." Athos sounded resigned.

The man reached a gloved hand up and pushed back his hood. The three Musketeers gaped at the long fall of blonde hair and obviously feminine face.

"Then on your honor you must help a lady in distress."