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


Chapter Ten: A Change of Plans

They were in sight of the other Musketeers before Athos stopped swearing long enough to speak coherently. "Why?"

The Count gestured for Gustav to put Athos in his cell next to d'Artagnan, then he taunted. "Why? My dear boy, my reason is the most elemental of all." He paused and motioned for Gustav to leave Elizabeth alone, then continued. "Love." He stood in the doorway of Athos' cell and smirked, "Despite my many faults, I did love Elizabeth," He spoke over the other Musketeer's gasps of outrage, "I wanted to hurt her for what she'd done to me, but I didn't have the power to touch her heart, you did. When you five fell into my lap like overripe plums, I couldn't help but try for a bit of revenge. It makes all my plotting and scheming seem somehow more… worthwhile." He smirked at the Musketeer. It suddenly occurred to Athos that the pure malice of the man's expression detracted significantly from his handsome looks. He looked distorted somehow, transfigured by hatred. It was unnerving.

Athos turned his face away from the Count's loathsome stare, and straight into d'Aratgnan's questioning eyes. He looked past his friend to Elizabeth. Her back was to him and he could see her waving away Aramis' questioning glances from across the corridor. He turned back to the Count, "I hope you enjoyed it my lord," his voice dripped sarcasm over the title, "because at the first available opportunity, I'm going to rip your balls off and shove you face-first into the Seine."

The Count simply laughed and walked to where the guards sat. He picked up a stout staff about two inches in diameter then motioned for Gustav to pull Elizabeth forward.

"Let's play a little game," He motioned towards Elizabeth with the staff, "We'll start with answers, every time one of you lies to me, Elizabeth will pay for it." He smiled as Henri entered, "Glad you could join us Comte."

Henri bowed low at the waist, and the Count raised his staff from the middle.

"Wait!" Porthos exclaimed.

"You object?"

"Yes, you forgot to ask the question! Ask me anything!"

The Count smiled, "I want the truth, not just answers, and I think you will need to be persuaded to give me the one and not the other." The Count brought the staff down with a crack on Elizabeth's ribs. She fell forward, hands automatically clutching her middle, but Henri pulled her upright again in an instant.

"Musketeers," the Count began as if he were addressing a crowded theater, "you have come to the home of my good friend with ignoble intentions in your heart. Tell me, why exactly are you here?"

When none answered, the Count smiled broadly. "Good, I'm glad you keep your secrets. Life wouldn't be fun without a bit of torture." He raised the staff again, and Aramis cried out.

"Wait!"

"Too late for that old boy." He swung the staff into the side of Elizabeth's head and she staggered. She came up spitting blood.

"Where are your servants?"

"Paris!" Porthos leapt in, a question he could answer.

"Don't lie to me." The Count swung at the back of Elizabeth's legs and she fell forward.

"Leave her alone." Aramis demanded.

"That sounded like a threat." The Count sniggered, "And how exactly do you plan to back it up. Glare me to death?" He smirked and brought the staff down one last time. Made the last because Elizabeth caught it before it hit and twisted it from his grasp. Before he could cry out she stabbed him in the gut. When the Count hit the floor, she swung it into the side of his head with alarming force. Three of the four Musketeers couldn't help but wince at the cracking sound it made. Athos took a perverse pleasure in it.

She rounded on Henri and snarled. "Into the cell." She motioned towards her previous occupancy. He entered meekly and she swung the door shut. She turned on Gustav, "Do you want to fight me?"

"No my lady, I've been waiting for someone to do that for me since I fell into his service." Gustav bowed at the waist, "I apologize if I've in any way inconvenienced you."

She smiled for a moment, then gestured for him to toss her the keys. Gustav took them from the cowering hands of one of the other guards. Elizabeth unlocked Porthos, then Aramis' cell. Her stiff demeanor restrained them from an affectionate greeting. She turned to d'Artagnan and set him free. She then turned to the task of unlocking their restraints as well. She paused in front of Athos cell, and he wondered for a moment if she intended to leave him there, he really wouldn't blame her. But he was shocked when she opened his cell and unlocked his chains as well.

"Elizabeth…" he began once he was free.

"Don't you dare talk to me." She snapped and turned to stalk away. She stopped with a wince before she could get far and held a hand to her ribs.

"Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked, his voice full of concern.

She started to nod, but changed her mind, "I think at least two of my ribs are broken. Among other problems." None of the Musketeers missed the scathing look she shot Athos. "Gustav, would you be so kind as to place these two lords," she gestured at Henri and the Count, who was still lying on the floor unmoving, "in chains for their return to Paris?

Gustav nodded and Elizabeth made to leave, but she stumbled and nearly fell.

D'Artagnan stepped forward, "You're hurt, let one of us carry you." He made to pick her up, but she stepped away from him with another wince.

"You rescued us," he explained, "at least let us help you."

Elizabeth looked at him, Athos' words about them being suspicious of her still fresh in her mind. "Porthos, will you help me?"

Porthos stepped forward with a quizzical look and swung her into his arms. "Of course," he said. After a moment she wrapped an arm around his neck.

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, "Did I do something?"

Aramis was looking at the pained expression on Athos' face as he watched Porthos carry Elizabeth up the stairs, "I don't think it was us." Athos jerked his head around at Aramis' comment. "Was it?" he continued.

Athos opened his mouth, but obviously changed whatever it was he was going to say. He started up the stairs, "No, it wasn't you. It was me. Me and my overwhelming need to be an utter bastard."

The other two Musketeers looked at each other, but followed him. Outside, Porthos was imperially gesturing for someone to bring them their horses. "Can you ride?" they heard him ask Elizabeth. She nodded and he helped her into her saddle.

The Musketeers oversaw the arrangements as the two lords were 'helped' into a waiting wagon which Gustav generously offered to drive. Within ten minutes, they were on the road again, this time for their return to Paris. Elizabeth and Porthos rode at the head of the group, followed by Gustav in the wagon. Athos brought up the rear with Aramis at his side, both silent. D'Artagnan scouted ahead.

"So, are you going to tell me, or should I continue to guess?"

Elizabeth whipped her head up and shot a glance at Porthos. She sighed heavily, "Not now Porthos."

"I'm your friend Elizabeth, you should tell me."

Elizabeth laughed, but Porthos didn't like the hopeless sound of it. "You are my friend aren't you Porthos?"

"Of course I am," He smiled, "we've been the best of pals since you cocked an arrow at me and started into me with your demands you've yet to stop making." She laughed again, and this one sounded more genuine. "By the by, what on earth made you choose a bow anyway?"

"As a child I liked to hunt, but I never could see the fairness and shooting the poor creatures, so I asked… a man in the town where we lived to teach me. I rather like it mainly because no one expects it now a days. But since men have quit wearing armor, it's just as deadly as a pistol, or your sword, especially since mine are poisoned, so even if the wound isn't lethal, the arrow is."

"You carry poisoned arrows?" His mouth was agape.

She smiled, "Have I shocked you?"

"Nothing you do will ever shock me again."

"I doubt that." She mumbled under her breath.

"Now are you going to tell me what happened?" Porthos smoothly changed the subject.

"No."

He opened his mouth but she held up a hand and stopped him, "Tonight, when we stop at whatever inn, I'll tell you. But not now, not here in the open." She glanced over her shoulder at the wagon, "He at least can hear us I'm sure. No, not now Porthos."

Porthos looked at her for a long moment, then nodded.

Meanwhile, about thirty yards further from Paris, Aramis became sick of Athos' sullen brooding. He did it entirely too much in his own opinion.

"So, are you going to wallow forever, or are you going to share in the misery?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"As well you should." Aramis sighed deeply. "Athos, I've known you nearly my entire adult life, we've kept many secrets, but always for a reason. Give me a reason and I'll leave you alone."

Athos sat in silence for a long moment before speaking. "It's none of your business."

"That's never stopped me before."

"I know." Athos ran a hand down his face. "God's balls Aramis, I don't even know… I'm not sure how to… goddamn it."

Aramis decided it wasn't the right moment to take exception to Athos' blasphemy, instead he offered some advice. "Why don't you start at the beginning, when you left us to talk to the Count, by the by, are you planning on telling her that you're-"

"The Count de Fère? No, not now anyway. After what I've done, I really don't think she'd believe me." Athos slouched in his saddle. "There are times I despise being a Count." He laughed softly, "Hell, there are times I despise being me at all."

"Like now?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Later Aramis."

"Athos-"

"Later."