A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the delay!
Thank you everyone for the amazing reaction to this story!
This chapter was betaed by InsertImaginativeNameHere, thank you so much for all your work!
Happy reading!
Chapter 03
Staying awake was becoming harder, but he had to stay vigilant to protect the king.
After a while, he had managed to put himself in a half-sitting position. It was not comfortable, his head was giving him spins, which led to a constant sickness sensation. The injury at his side had stopped bleeding, at least for now, but he was in considerable pain and he was hoping it would not become infected.
All this made it difficult to think clearly. He was also worried about Constance. The last time he saw her, she was laying on the ground, face down and half of her body under a table.
Their kidnappers had left her for dead, but somehow, Aramis suspected she was still alive.
She was a Musketeer, after all, and Musketeers didn't die easily.
At least he hoped so.
The reality was that he kept thinking about her, about how brave she had been. She never hesitated; whenever he had needed backup, she was there. For a moment, he felt exactly as when he fought with his brothers: safe. He didn't know her condition, and he really hoped her injuries weren't deadly.
She was their only hope.
He tried not to think about the consequences if D'Artagnan found her dead. It was not just a matter of grief. He knew his friend would be devastated, but that he would hang on until he had found them before letting all the grief out and crying for her. Constance was not only D'Artagnan's wife. She was his guidance, and the one who could ground him when everything became too much.
Aramis knew sometimes the Gascon felt he was not good enough to guide the Musketeers, but he was also aware Constance played a major role in supporting him in those moments. Her experience at the Queen's side had taught her much, and he knew she instilled her knowledge into the young man, not that he really needed it, by the way.
More than once, it had been D'Artagnan who came out with a brilliant plan to take guard at the Louvre during a difficult situation, or when possible enemies could be hidden in the retainers of some important guests. Sometimes, he saw something of Athos in this young Captain.
If Constance died, D'Artagnan would probably die too, at least his soul.
He shook his head to clear it from his dark thoughts, only to regret it as a new wave of dizziness hit him.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe deeply to avoid vomit.
"'Mis?" The kid asked looking at him with worried eyes
"I'm okay, my King," he reassured him, even though he'd really wanted to go to sleep.
He was deliberately only using the kid's rank, because he didn't want their abductors to know how close he was to him, and he knew (because Constance had told him more than once) his voice was softer and full of affection when he said his name.
He didn't want them to think they were somehow more bonded than they should be, even if they were.
When he was younger, Aramis had often told him stories of his past adventures when he couldn't sleep, and Louis had shortly begun to call him just 'Mis when they were not in public and he often cradled on his lap, and he rocked him until he fell asleep.
It had become less frequent during recent years, but it still happened.
Aramis knew it was a dangerous move, that there were still people in Court who still had suspicions about the real fatherhood of the King, mostly because he had started to show sides of his character which were very different from both his father and mother. Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop him.
They were the only moments in which the kid showed him real affection, and he could not give up on them, just hoping no one would never find out.
Plus, he really loved Anne's sweet smile during those moments, and how she often joined them as he narrated. They felt like a real family.
Louis started to move forward, looking for his safe arms, but Aramis forced him to stop.
"Your Majesty" he warned, with a coldness he didn't feel in his gaze.
The sadness into the kid's eyes literally broke his heart, but he knew it was necessary for their safety.
If they discovered how dear Aramis was to Louis, they would use it to hurt the King, and vice-versa.
No matter how it hurt, he had to put distance between them.
He just hoped they could fix things once this was over.
"It's not appropriate to hug a servant, my King," he gently scolded Louis, and he now fully understood what Treville and the others meant when they said he could hurt them only with his eyes and a few words.
"As you prefer, Monsieur Aramis."
There was ice and sorrow in his voice at the same time.
He wanted to take his own words back, and just hug him and tell him everything would be alright. But he couldn't.
"Porthos?"
D'Artagnan couldn't almost believe he was really here. He knew he needed a few days to stay with Marie-Colette.
"I met Constance," the bigger man explained.
The Captain felt a chill down his spine. What did she tell him?
He was no longer a Musketeer, or a soldier, and therefore he could not tell him what had happened. He trusted Porthos with his life, but that would be treason, and he cared about his life.
He had to make sure she didn't tell him anything.
"Yeah…she took a bad hit from a recruit" he mumbled, trying to smile. "Guess she would pay more attention next time"
"You are, and always have been, many things, D'Artagnan." Porthos managed a smile "But never a liar. Don't start now"
The dark-skinned man sat beside him and surrounded his shoulder with one of his arms. "I understand if you can't tell me, because that's how it works. Still, if you need me, I am here. I want you to know it."
"Thank you," D'Artagnan voice betrayed the lump he felt in his throat.
"Tell him," Constance's voice reached them as she entered the garrison. The Musketeer looked at his wife; the doctor had put a bandage on the cut on her cheek, while her eye was still swollen. He knew by experience that it would need a few days and cold water to go back to normal.
He shot her a warning look.
"Don't give me that look, Captain," she added "You need him. And he deserves to know. Aramis is still his best friend. This has not changed"
"What happened?"
D'Artagnan wished, and not for the first time that day, that Athos was there, guiding him as he had done in the first years of his life as a soldier.
Even if all of his friends and the Queen had ensured he had all that was needed to be the Captain of the Musketeers, he still felt inadequate. It was difficult for him to give direct orders to the ones who had served longer than him, even if no one had never questioned his leadership. Apparently, being one of the four Inseparables had given him some extra credit.
Athos would have known what to do right now.
He was both an amazing soldier and a noble, which made him also a good talker and quite a politician when he wanted. D'Artagnan, meanwhile, was maybe a good soldier, but he was still a farm boy. This situation was way out of his league. He was lost.
"D'Artagnan. Tell him," Constance encouraged. "You will need all the help you can find to save them, and if they die, they will never know. If they live, they will thank you for saving them"
D'Artagnan gave her a look questioning her last sentence, because the King was revealing to be as whimsical as his father was, and he had his doubts.
Porthos was now worried. The kind of worry that made him want to grab D'Artagnan by his shoulders, hang him to the wall and shout at (or hit) him until he didn't tell him what had happened.
If Aramis was involved, it was probable that the Queen and the King were in immediate danger. He just hoped it was nothing too bad, even if D'Artagnan's mood told him otherwise.
He looked again at Constance; she seemed spent, as she had fought for her life. It was not just the black swollen eye, or the now covered cut on her face. Her dress was crumpled and dirty, and there was something in her eyes too…was she scared?
"Tell him or I will," she prompted him, and now Pothos knew for sure something big was up.
She could be stubborn, and definitely different from any other woman he had ever met.
She was able to stand up against any man, no matter what his rank was, and she could definitely drive anyone nuts when she was convinced of something, still he could count on the fingers of only one hand the time she had exposed herself only to force D'Artagnan to take her place.
Even if she wasn't the typical damsel-in-distress, D'Artagnan felt this huge instinct of preservation towards her, and she was usually very careful to do nothing to make him unleash it, because it could probably cause his death.
So, if she was now playing this card, whatever had happened, it was bad.
Porthos recognized D'Artagnan's exasperated gaze toward her, but he was not angry. He pulled her to his chest and kissed her hair, before inviting him into his office.
"What happened?" Porthos sit now on the chair in front of D'Artagnan's desk while the young Captain poured all of them a cup of wine. He had made Constance sit on his chair, and he was now sitting on the edge of the desk itself, one leg bent on it and the other one outstretched to touch the ground, a position he had always taken during their meeting with Treville which irritated their former captain so much that it had become their joke.
Slowly, D'Artagnan told him the little he knew about what had happened.
"My opinion," he concluded "is that someone had taken them. To what scope, and where…I don't know."
Porthos didn't need to ask if he had already questioned the only living witness they had. It was very clear he had sent Constance to see the Doctor first thing, probably while he tried to calm down from the shock of finding her like that.
"Constance." He looked at her calmly "What do you remember?"
The woman took a steadying breath before talking.
"We fought, Aramis and I," she finished "But there were too many of them, and we could not do anything. Eventually one of them managed to hit me. I fell and hit my head against the table. I woke when I heard someone entering the rooms. I stayed still and attacked when I felt ready, as you taught me." Porthos couldn't help but grin with proud. She had always been a good student. "But it was only D'Artagnan. All I know is that someone, probably their commander, kept repeating they should take all of them alive. I have nothing else. I'm sorry."
"You did good," Porthos reassured her before D'Artagnan could speak. He knew he was the only one she would listen to in that moment. They both know the Gascon always tried to protect her, and that he would never said anything else to her. Still, it was the truth. If she hadn't been there, they would never know what really happened in there and, moreover, that wherever they had been brought, they were still alive. At least for now. "Try to rest, if you can," he added "You are exhausted, and this one will need you," he pointed with his thumb to D'Artagnan.
"Are you going to stay?" she asked and he tried not to feel offended by her question.
"I would never leave Aramis in danger," he stated "Or you two dealing alone with this situation."
Aramis woke with a start as the door of their cell opened.
He didn't remember exactly when he fell asleep, still he remembered seeing the king sleep, so at least he had not left him awake alone.
His head felt numb and sorrowful, but better than it had been been before, and he decided that was good. He knew how to self-check, but he didn't have the time to do so, besides, without his medical kit or herbs there was nothing he could do to treat himself, so a detailed check would do no good.
Carefully, he probed his skin around the cut on his side. It was a little bit warm and painful, and he estimated infection was slowly setting on. He didn't feel fever, and that was good.
He just had to hope he would stay fit enough to help Louis survive and endure whatever they had in mind.
He focused on the three men who had entered. He looked at the still sleeping king and moved so to put himself between them and him.
He assessed them with his expert eyes.
Since the beginning of his office as Prime Minister, he, D'Artagnan and the Queen had decided to put at good use his previous experience as a Musketeer; therefore, he was also the latest guard of the King's safety.
That's why, unlike Treville, he still kept his sword and pistol at hand during his duty time.
They looked well prepared, armed with swords and pistols, which they kept in their hands.
He found himself facing the three guards from a distance that was way less than he liked.
If only one of them fired now, the bullet would pass through him, and there was the concrete possibility it would hit the King as well. Definitely not good.
He observed how their hands kept the pistols, and he judged they knew what they were doing, then chided himself. Of course, they were professionists; they managed to pass D'Artagnan's soldiers and sneak into the Louvre, and beat him and Constance.
"Pay attention with those guns!" he warned in his trademark smirk and cocky tone, raising his own hands at the same time. "Someone might get hurt!"
"Shut up, Musketeer."
"Actually," he corrected, not dropping his attitude, and still not doing anything to attack them. He forced himself to look almost relaxed, as if he wasn't bothered for being prisoner. "It's Prime Minister."
"Just because you slept with the Queen, it doesn't mean you deserve that title, Musketeer,"
the man in the middle, probably the boss, retorted.
Aramis couldn't help the chill running down his spine, even if he had now learnt how to not show nothing to his enemies.
As Athos told him more times than he could count, he couldn't jump, or pale or became aggressive any time someone accused him of having slept with Anne. He had to stay stoic and calm, pushing the statement away as nothing had been said.
Easier said than done, considering he was definitely NOT Athos, which could had written the 'How teach to a stoic to be stoic' ultimate manual. After so many years of friendship, Aramis still couldn't explain to himself how the former Comte could be so collected at any time. He had seen him explode, really explode, just a couple of times. He doubted it was just how he was raised, as he claimed.
"I am not sure how familiar are you with French laws but, the last time I checked, you get hanged for sleeping with the Queen, not made Prime Minister," he shot back without missing a bit. "I should have met you years ago, so I would be promoted sooner and in what I am sure is a way more pleasant way!"
In his mind, he really hoped the King was as sound asleep as he seemed, or he would likely be in trouble.
One of the men moved forward Louis.
Acting by instinct, Aramis made a step to stop him, but the other two pinned him to the wall, keeping him in place putting all their combined weights on his chest and pointing the guns at his head.
He struggled, but when the boss punched his side cut he cried out in pain as his vision blacked for a second. He would have likely gone on his knees if not for the hold they had on his torso.
The pain left him panting for air and at the same time regretting it since every breath was a new strike of pain. He focused on calming himself while he watched the boss shake the King abruptly, starting him wake.
"Time to wake up, Your Majesty." There was something mocking in the way he pronounced the title, which made Aramis worry.
If these people were supporters of the accusation made to the Queen of having cheated on the King with Aramis, things would probably go from bad to worse.