A/N: Thank you beeblegirl for reviewing!
Chapter 3
Before heading back to the garrison, Porthos and Athos made their way to the headquarters of the City Guard to speak with their captain about the atrocious conduct they'd witnessed. The City Guard didn't have a proper garrison like the Musketeers; rather, it looked as though they had commandeered a small estate within the city. A ten-foot, wrought-iron fence had been erected around the property, which consisted of a barren dirt yard with several supply wagons sitting about, and a large house. They had to walk the length of the perimeter to the gate, which was locked and guarded. The guardsman made no move to allow them admittance.
"We're here to see Captain Lahaye," Athos said.
The guard flicked an unimpressed look over them before moving to open the gate. Porthos shot him a dark glower as they entered. The iron clanged closed behind them, and Porthos didn't like the subsequent feeling of being trapped inside this place.
They crossed the yard to the house where they weren't barred from entering, though they did have to ask for directions to Captain Lahaye. The less than friendly answer made Porthos bristle further. It was like having the Red Guard back all over again.
The captain's office was much fancier than Athos's—and more so than a foot-soldier captain's should be. Maybe the gilded paintings had been left behind by the previous owner, though the various decanters sitting atop a cherry wood cabinet sure looked like they were indulged in, frequently.
Captain Lahaye looked up from his desk. "Ah, Captain Athos. What brings you to my garrison? Come to provide some of those munitions after all?"
"You seem well stocked, based on what we saw on our way in," Athos replied.
"One can never have enough during war, as I'm sure you know."
"You expectin' a Spanish army to show up?" Porthos rejoined.
Athos flashed him a brief quelling look, then turned back to Lahaye. "We came to speak with you about how your men are conducting themselves in the streets."
Lahaye's expression hardened, and he slowly pushed himself out of his chair to stand. "You have been back in the city a day and you want to tell me how to do my job?"
"Yer job isn't to beat up French citizens," Porthos retorted.
"I am merely trying to maintain order in a city that is growing more and more strained by the number of refugees. My men are acting in accordance with that."
"By treating every refugee like a suspected criminal?" Athos said.
Lahaye drew his shoulders back. "Many of them are criminals. They are desperate, and it's only natural they turn to illicit activities."
"Maybe if you didn't keep a chokehold on the food rations and mug them on the street, they wouldn't have to," Porthos growled.
Lahaye's eyes flashed darkly. "I am following the governor's orders on these matters. I suggest you see to your own."
That was as clear a dismissal as anything. Porthos glanced at Athos, who held Lahaye's gaze for a beat longer and then turned to walk out.
"That went well," Porthos muttered once they were outside.
"Perhaps we should pay a visit to the governor next," Athos replied.
Porthos shrugged; why not? Though at this point, he wasn't going to expect any better kind of reception.
The governor's house was only a few blocks from the City Guard garrison, perhaps not a coincidence, as the regiment had been formed to serve him. Or, well, serve Paris, but Porthos doubted either party really saw it that way. He had too much experience of people in power oppressing those beneath them.
The governor had more city guards stationed at his residence, though these at least immediately permitted the musketeers to enter. An attendant was waved over and they were escorted into the foyer and told to wait.
And wait. And wait.
Porthos folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. It wasn't that he wasn't used to standing around waiting on sovereigns, it was just…well, it had been two years since he'd had to do it. And it took a different kind of patience than the one exercised on the eve of a battle.
Athos, on the other hand, had never lost that stoic, unbothered posture when it came to standing still.
They were kept waiting for the better part of an hour before a servant finally returned for them. Then they were escorted into an office even more opulent than Lahaye's. A plump man with long stringy hair sat behind a large mahogany desk.
"Ah," he greeted. "Welcome, welcome. What brings the legendary Musketeers to my house? Usually the King sends a messenger when he needs something."
Porthos wanted to ask if he normally kept the King's messenger waiting this long.
"We are not here on the King's business," Athos replied.
Governor Magnier cocked his head. "Oh? Then what can I do for you, gentlemen?"
"We have witnessed a handful of instances of brutality by your city guards," Athos explained. "We were hoping you would step in and put a stop to it."
The governor blinked at them as though taken aback. But he quickly waved his hand dismissively at their concerns. "I assure you, my men know how to handle these people."
Porthos and Athos exchanged a look.
"These people?" Athos repeated.
Magnier nodded with a sly look. "Don't be fooled by their pitiful appearances. They are crafty miscreants that will bring this city to ruin if allowed to run unchecked. Captain Lahaye and his men know what they are doing. Thank you for your concerns, but they are unfounded."
He then flicked his hand for them to leave and turned his attention back to the papers of his desk, not another word spoken about it.
Porthos drew his shoulders back, but Athos gave him a subtle look, and they both left.
"He's just as bad as Lahaye," he scowled under his breath.
Athos didn't say anything, but there was an obvious tightness in his jaw. He wasn't happy about how that went, either.
"You gonna tell Ninon we didn't have any luck?" Porthos asked as they strode into the street.
Athos slowed his pace in hesitation.
"You should go," Porthos said. "I think I'll pick up Vrita and head to one of those food distribution centers, lend some 'help.'"
Athos thought about it for another moment, then nodded. "Alright. But, try not to incite anything."
"I'm not the one you'll have to worry about," Porthos growled in return.
But he wouldn't object to one of those pissant city guards doing something to warrant a little lesson in manners.
.o.0.o.
Athos made the long trek out of the city to the refugee camp that had taken up residence outside its limits. Tents and shabby lean-tos created a village all of its own, one that was jam-packed with people.
"Excuse me," Athos said to a passing woman. "I am looking for Ninon."
She pointed him in a direction, so he kept going. He had to ask two more times before he finally spotted her amidst a group of gathered people.
"We must fight back against the city guards," a man was urging. "How much longer will we endure these injustices?"
"Violence is not the answer," Ninon replied stately.
"It is the guards who are initiating the violence," the man rejoined sharply. "We must defend ourselves!"
Ninon looked ready to respond, but her attention faltered when she caught sight of Athos. The rest of the group turned their gazes his way, all of them falling silent as the tension in the air increased noticeably.
"It's all right," Ninon assured them. "This is Athos. He is a friend."
"He wears a uniform," the passionate man spat.
"Of the Musketeers," she said. "They are not like the city guards at all. Athos is captain and was, in fact, going to address these matters with the Captain of the City Guard." She raised her brow in question at him.
Athos hesitated. He hadn't planned on telling an entire group of people that the City Guard captain and the governor had callously dismissed his concerns.
Ninon must have read such in his face because her expression sobered. "I take it they were not receptive."
"They were not," he admitted.
"Then we are left with no choice," the other man said. "We must take up arms!"
"Such action will only give the City Guard justification to strike you down," Athos countered.
"They do that already. Taking our rations, our precious few supplies, and arresting us for the most minor offenses that are preposterous, such as sitting on a street corner for too long!" The man gesticulated earnestly at the other refugees.
"I understand your frustrations," Athos pressed. "But a rebellion will not solve anything."
Disgruntled murmurs rippled through the increasing crowd.
"Athos is right," Ninon said loudly for them all to hear. "Have patience. We can still bring our grievances before the King. I am sure he will listen to them."
The refugees did not look appeased, but they did cease their grumblings and began to disperse. Ninon caught Athos's eye and cocked her head for him to follow. She led him into a nearby tent that was half the size his had been on the war front. A pile of blankets on the ground was the equivalent of a bed, and a short stool was set beside a very small cooking fire. A slanted piece of wood served as a makeshift writing desk, given the parchment and ink quill sitting on the ground next to it.
"I would offer you something to drink," Ninon said, "but I have yet to go to the river."
"I could walk with you," Athos offered.
She smiled and picked up her large jug, then led him back out and through the camp toward the river. The abject poverty was visible at every turn, from the meager scraps of food some tossed into cooking pots that were more water than broth, to the dirtied clothes on people's backs from having to trek for leagues just to find somewhere safe to lay their heads at night. And then there was the despondent look in their eyes, the hopelessness and uncertainty.
"I appreciate your effort," Ninon said. "But I could have told you Governor Magnier and Captain Lahaye could not be reasoned with."
"I suppose you've tried?"
"I have written them and received no response. I tried to get an audience with the governor once but was denied. Unfortunately, my new status doesn't afford me the privilege of being taken seriously. Not that I was much as a comtesse either." She flashed him a wry look.
Athos gave a weak smile in return. No, she hadn't been taken very seriously as a comtesse, but at least as part of the nobility she'd gotten through the door.
Ninon flicked a considering look at him. "Will you go to the King?"
He supposed that was the last course open to them. "I will try," he said.
She smiled. "That is all any of us can do."
They reached the river, and several people nodded to Ninon as she stepped into line behind the refugees already seeking to fill their containers.
"I gather you are some sort of leader here?" Athos spoke quietly. After what he'd seen at that meeting, it wasn't hard to deduce.
"It is a role that has fallen to me since I've been here," she admitted. "I've helped keep things organized, made sure resources were shared equitably, tried to help some find work where possible, though that is not in high supply either."
They reached the riverbank and she knelt down to fill her jug.
Athos thought back to some of the garrison reports he'd had a chance to peruse—they no longer had a stable boy, and those duties were currently divided up among the cadets. Athos would have to speak to Constance about whether there was enough money to hire someone for that work. Or at least pay them with three square meals a day. Speaking of which, old Serge had passed away the year prior, and it sounded like Constance had been doing most of the garrison's cooking. Perhaps they could hire a cook, or at least a capable assistant.
Ninon straightened and hefted the jug onto her hip. Athos reached a hand out to offer to carry it, but she merely gave him a look and set off on her own. He shook his head as he followed.
When they arrived back at her tent, she picked up a cup to pour some of the fresh water into, then held it out to him. He politely waved it off. Lips quirking, she took a sip herself.
"I don't suppose you would consent to come stay at the garrison," he blurted out.
Ninon arched a brow at him. "That is a little forward, even for you."
His cheeks flushed hotly. "I didn't mean- I meant your own room," he floundered. "We have the space."
Her lips pursed together like she was trying to suppress a laugh. "So you are merely offering out of the kindness of your heart?"
"Of course."
She gave him a kind smile. "Would you offer that to the person next door? Or the one next to them?"
Athos faltered. No, the garrison was not an inn…
"It's alright," Ninon said. "I am touched by your concern, but my place is here, helping people."
Athos sighed. He should have expected that. And while he may not have wholeheartedly agreed with the way she threw herself into her self-ordained missions, a part of him did admire her tenacity.
"If you need anything, send word," he said.
She smiled appreciatively. "Don't be a stranger, Athos."
He fumbled again for a response, and instead just settled on a clipped nod and then left, before their interaction could get any more awkward. For him, anyway.
