December Desolation Chapter 24
A/N: Inspiration struck guys so here is a chapter!
Pounding.
Incessant pounding.
Pounding that reminded him of when his father used to be constructing one of those wagons and was using a massive mallet to whack nails into place, or even wooden beams that were stubbornly resisting their new positions.
He had half a mind to go outside to the yard and tell his father to stop, it was giving him a terrible headache and all he wanted was to lie down and sleep. The cart could be built tomorrow when he was well enough to give his father a helping hand.
Actually that couldn't be right, his father was… dead. He remembered cradling the man in his arms as crimson blood pooled in the rain about them, rain which thundered through his ears and plastered his hair to his face.
No his father most definitely was dead. So if he was not creating the aggravation… no the painful pounding, then who was?
Regaining consciousness was a slow process, like swimming upwards against the tide in a raging river, being buffeted by the roaring wind and pushed back below the surface. Finally he broke the vicious cycle, gasping as his head breached the surface and he inhaled lungfuls of clean air, blinking bleary, gritty eyes open.
Painfully slowly awareness came back to him and he found himself slumped bonelessly against a thick trunked tree, if the hard bark pressing at his back were any indication, or the damp that was slowly seeping through the seat of his breeches.
A roughness scraping against his wrists told him in no uncertain terms that they were bound tightly in rope behind his back, the ache in his shoulders only adding to that assumption.
Then there was the blinding pain in his head, through the narrow squint that he had managed he was able to see the flickering flames of a merrily roaring campfire, and he just knew that it wasn't his brothers sitting around its comforting warmth.
There were three men lounging comfortably around the fire, packs making perfect pillows as they talked and laughed with one another, paying no heed to their captive whom they had situated just outside the circle of light. D'artagnan tried to ascertain if there were any men outside his line of vision and turned his head slightly to the right. Bright lights exploded behind his eyes like those newfangled fireworks they created in Italy and he regretted the attempt immediately.
A low groan was torn from his lips and echoed loudly around the clearing despite the general chatter, all heads swivelling his way as his captors realised their prisoner had returned to the land of the living.
As the men made their way over to where he was slumped, helpless and groaning, with malicious glints in their eyes and expectant smirks on their lips, he made a heartfelt plea to his brothers to get here in time before these men destroyed him too much.
Having stopped about an hour ago in a secluded clearing, Aramis was still the only one of the trio that had found any respite in sleep. When they had set up a warm campfire and rolled out their sleeping mats in a row beside it, Porthos had scooped Aramis up from where he had been laid down against a tree and tucked him carefully under the blankets before leaving him in peace.
Porthos then made his way to where his other, grumpy brother was sat upon a log. Head hanging, braced with his hands resting his elbows on his thighs. He plonked his considerable bulk next to Athos and bumped him gently with his shoulder.
"How you holding up?"
"How do you think" was the muffled reply.
"Well, considerin I ave never been as drunk as you or as sullen, I aven't the foggiest"
"Ha, bloody ha Porthos. Your attempts to cheer me up are as unwelcome as they are unsuccessful"
"Well that's gratitude for you" the larger man grumbled, there was no real heat behind his words however and he carried on regardless, "Jus trying to do the best for my brother and what do I get, insulted that's what!"
"Porthos, please. Dispense with the pleasantries and just state clearly and concisely what it is you really came over here to say." Athos' voice was weary, rubbing a hand down his face and fixing his brother with an exhausted and exasperated stare.
"Who is it that is targeting Aramis? You recognised that musket ball and it knocked you for a six, now D'artagnan has been kidnapped and i'd be willing to bet that the same person is responsible." His tone was not accusatory but it left no room for Athos to escape answering.
"My dear Porthos, no one in their right mind would enter into a wager with you, even if it didn't involve cards." A deep sigh gusted from his pursed lips and with yet another swipe to his face, he clasped his hands together and fixed his brother with an anguished gaze. "Marquis Laurent, it was his symbol which decorated that musket ball and him who has been targeting our Aramis. Him who is working with Isabelle's father to harm him and by association… me."
"Wait, you're telling me that the Marquis Laurent, good friend of the King and insanely rich nobleman has a grudge against our brother. Why on Earth?"
"Not Aramis… Me" Athos whispered "he was associated with my father, they drew up a betrothal between me and his oldest daughter. Naturally I was unconcerned at the time, being too young to really understand the significance, but then I met her. She was perfect and I desired nothing more than to marry her, obviously Laurent was not happy and complained to the King. Fortunately my father was on better terms with the King at that point and he nullified the betrothal, thank god, although it may have ended better for me if I hadn't married Anne"
Here he paused and gazed unseeing into the flickering flames, memories playing behind his eyes in a sickening cycle that had haunted him for years and driven him to drink.
"Regardless, his daughter, unbeknownst to me was hopelessly in love with me and upon discovering that we were not to be married, she took her own life. Laurent of course blamed my father and in due course me, I had hoped that once news had reached him of my own failed love then he would be vindicated and leave me alone. Evidently that was not the case and if I had to guess it has only incensed him further, hearing that I destroyed his daughter for a catastrophe of a marriage would be a kick to the gut. I can only imagine that he happened upon Isabelle's father and having heard of the exploits of "The Inseparables" he saw an opportunity to destroy me as my family supposedly destroyed his."
"Wow" was the only thing Porthos could think of to say, gobsmacked by the outpouring of information from his laconic friend. He didn't think he had ever heard that many words from his lips.
"Wow indeed" Athos smirked dryly, "I only hope we can protect and retrieve our brothers, preferably before any more harm comes to them and they can forgive me for all of this."
A/N: I hope that answers all your questions about who the musket ball belonged to, I had intended to keep it hidden for a little longer but it fitted with the way this chapter turned out! Hope you like it and please read and review :D
