December Desolation Chapter 25
D'artagnan rolled his eyes for the fourth time that hour as he listened with exasperation to the plotting of the group of men. He could only wonder how they had actually managed to capture him, as based upon their subpar planning they couldn't capture a cow if their lives depended on it. Then again, he had been particularly out of it at that point and hadn't managed to anticipate a tree branch aimed at his head from behind. That had been an unpleasant experience. He had been knocked out by many things in his life but a tree branch was a new experience and one he didn't care to repeat.
"So lemme get this straight Pierre, we got the kid and we keep 'im, un'armed until the other three turn up. Then we stick a gun to his 'ead, and threaten them until they swap 'im for the other two. What was their names again?"
He couldn't hold back the wave of irritation that swelled up at being called a boy, he was no more a boy than Porthos was!
You could hardly call the bear of a man a boy, and he was always irritated at people underestimating him like this.
"For the last time Andre we want to swap this stupid Gascon child for the Musketeers named Athos and Aramis. Laurent and Francis want this done as smoothly as possible so you need to get your thick head around this plan!"
The larger man cuffed him round the head with a frustrated grunt.
"You won't get away with this" D'artagnan butted in calmly, levelling stony brown eyes at his captives "once my brothers arrive you lot are going to be very sorry that you kidnapped me"
"You aren't in any position to be making threats little boy" the taller one made his way towards where D'artagnan was tethered to the tree, pulling at his wrists to be able to put some distance between him and the approaching man. "You had better behave and keep quiet or we will hurt you, I don't care if they meet our demands, you won't be needed after that."
D'artagnan spat viciously in his captors face and smirked in satisfaction at the disgust.
Pierre swiped a hand down his face to clear it of the spittle, features contorting in rage as a snarl lifted his lips. The next second D'artagnan's head snapped violently to the side with the force of the blow that the man landed to his face, blood dripping from his lip where it was sliced open on his teeth.
"Now shut up"
Deciding that this would be a tactical point to retreat, he sat back and glared mutinously at his captors.
"Good boy" Pierre taunted as he planted his backside back on the log beside the fire, laughing raucously with his fellow men.
Little did they know that D'artagnan had a plan to release himself, and prevent their admittedly terrible plan from succeeding. His new position against the tree had gifted him with a rather sharp branch and he was subtly working his wrists back and forth against it, slowly working to cut through the rope strand by strand.
The night air was frigid as it crept into his bones, skin prickling with the awful sensation of a lack of blood flowing through his body. He groaned slightly as he stared absently up at the constellations shining like glittering beacons in the inky black of the sky, taking inventory of how much his body hurt.
This had been a very surreal day, one that he desperately hoped he would wake up from and find it had just been a really terrible dream. He would open his eyes and be greeted with the sound of Jacques whistling merrily while he stoked the fire, and the cheerful joshing of men while they sparred playfully with each other.
A deep sigh flew from his lips as he shifted slightly in the bank of snow he was embedded in, unable to fully muster the energy to stand up. His head fell limply to the side as the will to keep it held up deserted him, and his eyes widened in horror at what filled his vision.
Long shining chestnut hair was matted with blood where it lay across the pallid face, dark eyelashes curling softly against his cheeks.
"D'artagnan" he whispered in horror, stretching a trembling arm over to reach his baby brother and pressing two fingers to his neck. "No, no, no no no!"
There was no familiar rushing of blood beneath his fingertips, no pulse thumping away against the sensitive skin, no sign of life.
His little brother was dead.
Slain like the rest of his brothers were, sleeping peacefully and totally trusting, before a knife was slid into their back.
He pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking like a newborn colt and adrenalin surging through his system as he pleaded desperately for this nightmare to end.
As he pushed on his brother's shoulder, his body flopped limply to the side, head lolling and one arm falling to the side. Revealing a gaping hole in his chest; a gunshot wound that had caused a massive rent in his doublet and blood stains down his front.
"Oh my poor brother" Aramis whispered softly, "death should not have taken thee, you were too good to end like this, I should have spared you this pain."
He caught sight of the marks of torture on his brother's body and closed his eyes in pain, he had been sliced repeatedly along his body leaving behind angry red lines, and a purple bruise marred his left eye socket.
"I'm so sorry D'artagnan, I should have got to you in time"
Touching a gentle hand to his brother's brow he muttered a heartfelt prayer, blessing his brother's soul as it embarked on its most sacred journey, begging for forgiveness and peace for D'art.
He cast a glance around the battlefield and gasped as his eyes fell upon the bodies of Athos and Porthos also, lying murdered on the battlefield with the rest of the Musketeers of Savoy.
Aramis jolted awake with a horrified scream, thrashing desperately to free himself from the force that was keeping him trapped in its embrace. Voices gradually filtered through his consciousness, raised as the screaming continued to erupt from his throat.
"Aramis… Brother… Calm yourself down!" Athos ordered reaching out to grab a hold of a flailing limb.
Porthos gave up on trying to get through to him with words and seized Aramis, wrapping him up in a bear hug from behind, gripping his wrists and holding them crossed against his chest as the smaller man continued to thrash.
"LET ME GO! D'ARTAGNAN! NO"
To both the other men's surprise, tears were streaming down their brother's cheeks, shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.
"Mis, shh it's alright. Calm down now, shhh" Porthos soothed as Athos rested his hands on Aramis' knees to ground him.
Gradually his breathing evened out and his sobs subsided into hitching breaths and he rested his head back against the comforting warmth of Porthos' shoulder, before blinking his eyes open slowly.
"Thank goodness, you with us?" Porthos asked in his characteristically gruff voice.
"Yes" Aramis rasped "I apologise for the spectacle"
"Don't even mention it Mis, we completely understand" Athos murmured "If anything I owe you an apology for my appalling behaviour yesterday. I am just… worried"
A weak smile spread across Aramis' lips "It's fine, I feel the same way. I… could never forgive myself if D'artagnan were to be harmed for something I have done"
"You have done nothing, you are innocent in all of this and always have been. The only person who is to blame for any of this is those who have been targeting us" Athos contradicted him firmly.
"I suppose you have a point, but I saw him…" he choked on a quiet sob "he was tortured and beaten and… murdered. Left to rot in the snow at Savoy like all the rest, our D'artagnan" he hid his face against Porthos' neck, screwing his eyes shut tight.
"We will find him" Athos said determinedly as he watched Porthos rub a large hand up and down the bony back and the other rested on the back of his neck in comfort, "of that I assure you. We will not stop until we do so and if they have harmed a single hair upon his head, they will regret it"
The three men sat in silence for a few more minutes before almost instantaneously they launched into motion, packing up their campsite in a few seconds and leaving nary a trace of their presence in the clearing.
"To D'artagnan" Aramis called out as Porthos spurred their horse into motion and they set off once again through the trees, hot on the trail of their youngest brother.
D'artagnan couldn't hold back the frustrated sigh as three hours later and he still hadn't managed to saw his way through the ropes holding his wrists together. He was still struggling his way through however and he determined to not give up while his brothers were still out there looking for him, he had no doubt they were still looking. They wouldn't give up, not while there was still a chance of him still being alive.
His attention was drawn to the group of men as the sound of a horses hooves filtered through the air. A chestnut gelding cantered into the clearing, a man in oversized leathers perched masterfully in the saddle as he came to a stop and slid gracefully from the saddle, leather boots meeting the floor with a muted crunch. The man strode purposefully towards the ruddy faced leader of the ragtag bunch who was more than slightly inebriated by this point and came to a halt directly in front of him.
"Pierre" the new arrival said brusquely, waiting until the blurry eyes focussed on him "Laurent wants to know when the exchange will happen."
"I… hic… don't know. Andre and his men lost them when they left the… hic… hunting lodge." The pudgy man released a massive belch when he finished speaking, the awful stench of stale alcohol wafting all the way over to where D'artagnan was sitting and if he hadn't been part of the plan to harm his friends, he would have felt sorry for the new man.
"You imbecile! He will kill us all if this fails. You had one job, capture the boy and keep a tail on the other three. What was so hard about that?" Although the words that spilled from his lips were angry, his tone was far from it and the expression on his face was a mixture between nauseated and paralysed with fear.
"It was harder than you think" Pierre whined in a nasally voice from where he was seated a few feet away on a log "one minute they were sitting there chatting, comforting the pretty one and then the next they were riding off and by the time we caught up, they were gone… no trace left"
"Well you had better find them or we are all deader than doornails."
"No need"
