A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex and pallysAramisRios for reviewing the last episode!
Some dialogue from 2x4 throughout this fic.
Chapter 1
Athos stood under the forest's canopy, watching the large group of people gathered beyond its edge. Beside him, Savron's gaze tracked the red-haired woman astride a white horse as she was led among the crowd.
"I have seen the Devil seated on his throne in his Palace of Gold," she proclaimed loudly. "I have witnessed the face of death, and he wears a Spanish crown!"
Athos exchanged a look with his friends. They had heard this Emilie of Duras was spouting incendiary rhetoric against Spain, but they hadn't expected it to be so…colorful.
"And under his crown are horns and under his fine robes are bloody hooves. I have looked on King Philip of Spain in his true self, the Antichrist, the enemy of God!"
Cheers went up among the people—men, women, and children—who had flocked to this girl's wild ravings.
"Sons and daughters of France, we must destroy the Devil before he destroys us. With our beloved King Louis to lead us, we must march on Spain and drag Satan from his lair!"
The cheers roared louder, gaining intensity as they spread through the masses.
"God bless you, Emilie of Duras!" a woman cried. "You're a saint!"
"Not a saint, but an ordinary woman," Emilie replied.
She closed her eyes then, her head swaying for a moment before she abruptly collapsed forward. There was a collective gasp as several people lunged to catch her.
"The Prophet is tired!" the older woman who had been leading the horse declared. "She must rest!"
A black man ducked in to lift Emilie into his arms.
"She's mad," d'Artagnan said bluntly from where he stood, Ayelet's head hanging over his shoulder.
"And dangerous," Athos replied.
"Musketeers are here!" someone shouted.
Every head in the crowd snapped their direction and the sea of people began to move toward them, many of the peasants drawing hack blades and holding scythes and pitchforks as they formed a wall of bodies at the edge of the tree line. Rhaego bared his teeth in response, and Aramis put a calming hand on his dragon's neck.
"I'm gettin' the feeling that we're not welcome here," Porthos grumbled.
The black man who'd helped Emilie pushed his way to the forefront. "What do you want?" he asked hostilely.
"We're here on the King's business," Aramis replied. "To see Emilie of Duras."
For a long moment, it looked like they wouldn't be allowed to pass. Vrita narrowed her eyes and let out a smokey snort that caused a few people to shift nervously. Then the apparent spokesman for Emilie stepped to the side and extended his arm.
"By all means."
The musketeers shared guarded looks before moving forward. Their dragons stayed in the woods but their watchful presence would certainly keep the peasants on their best behavior. Still, there was a definite tension as the four of them made their way through the camp and into Emilie's tent where they found her seated in a wooden chair draped with furs like a makeshift throne. The older woman who'd been with her was stirring a cooking pot in the back.
"King's Musketeers to see you, Emilie," the black man announced.
She gestured for them to come in. "Please. I expected the King would send his representatives soon, and I am pleased to see his most famed warriors."
"You know it is an act of treason to raise an army without the King's authority?" Athos said, cutting through the niceties.
Emilie smiled. "I love the King. God has told me to seek him out so he can lead his people to victory."
The older woman brought Emilie a bowl of soup. "We'll march on Spain and trample King Philip into the dust," she said assuredly.
"How are you gonna to do that?" Porthos asked sarcastically. "I don't see any cavalry. I don't see any artillery."
"God is worth a thousand cannons," Emilie replied.
"Did God tell you to hate the Spanish?" d'Artagnan put in, a notable thread of disdain in his tone.
"I hate no one," she declared ardently, rising from her seat. "If King Philip submits, his people will be left in peace."
Athos refrained from commenting on what he thought of that likelihood.
Emilie's eyes suddenly rolled back and she fell against the older woman, the bowl of soup clinking to the floor.
Porthos looked ready to move in and assist, but the black man pushed his way forward first.
"She has the fainting sickness," the older woman said. "It is when God speaks to her."
The musketeers watched as the girl was carried into another part of the tent to lie down. It seemed their audience with her was at an end, so they quietly excused themselves to return to their dragons and from there headed back to the palace to report to the King and Treville…and Rochefort, as he was frequently inserting himself into the King's counsel.
"This girl's visions must be witchcraft and she should be burned at the stake," Rochefort declared after Athos had relayed what they'd witnessed.
Athos barely kept himself from rolling his eyes; Porthos and d'Artagnan didn't even try. Aramis seemed oddly contemplative and had been since their visit to the camp.
"Such quick judgement led to two innocent people being wrongly executed for witchcraft," Athos said pointedly. "We cannot jump to conclusions."
Rochefort glowered at him. "She is still dangerous. The mob are rampaging through Paris murdering anyone with a Spanish name. It's chaos."
"That is not grounds for burning a young girl to death," Athos countered. He turned to Louis. "Will you meet with her as she wishes?"
The King faltered and cast a nervous look around at them all. "Well…but suppose she is a witch?" he hedged. "No, it's not safe with Milady at large."
"Why don't we just arrest her?" d'Artagnan put in. "For inciting the mobs?"
"It's not that simple," Treville answered. "This Emilie has thousands of supporters, you've seen them. If they march for the border, Spain would have a legitimate pretext for war."
"She's sick," Porthos insisted. "She's touched in the head."
"She fainted while we were speaking to her," d'Artagnan added. "Apparently, she's been having fits since she was a child."
"Some people call that the sacred affliction," Aramis finally spoke up. "Perhaps she's genuinely blessed."
"More like cursed," Rochefort said disparagingly.
"With faith, anything is possible," Aramis replied, undaunted.
"All right, Aramis," Treville interjected. "As you're the expert on God, you can deal with her."
Aramis's brows rose sharply.
"Go to the camp tonight," Treville instructed. "Gain her trust, find out what her weaknesses are."
"I didn't become a musketeer to destroy an honest woman's reputation," he protested.
"Would you rather see her march thousands of innocent people to a Spanish slaughterhouse?"
Aramis hesitated at that and didn't offer up any more protest. Athos eyed him carefully; he wasn't sure about sending one man in alone among a bunch of zealots. Though, if anyone could charm their way into the young woman's confidence, it would be Aramis. If he had a mind to, and, at the moment, Athos couldn't tell where the marksman's head was at.
"Speaking of the witch Milady," Treville continued, turning back to the King. "Since Rochefort hasn't made any recent progress on tracking her down, might I suggest we call in another witch hunter to assist?"
Rochefort straightened sharply. "I can handle it."
"Surely extra help at this point could only be an asset," Treville pressed, staring the man down.
"Treville is right," Louis readily agreed. "Milady's attacks have gone on too long. I want all the reinforcements we can get."
Rochefort's jaw visibly ticked but he managed to incline his head in acquiescence. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"I'll send for one immediately," Treville said.
This time Athos couldn't keep the smug expression off his face, though neither could the others as the King dismissed them and Rochefort went away looking like he'd sucked on a lime.
"Aramis," Athos said softly as they started to leave. "Are you up to this?"
"Up to publicly destroying a woman?" he scoffed, then shook his head. "I'll do my duty, Athos."
"I know you will. And be careful."
Aramis didn't give a quip in return as he walked out.
.o.0.o.
Rhaego could immediately tell by his rider's stride that something was wrong as Aramis made his way into the garrison and toward the barracks. When he re-emerged a few minutes later with a plain dark cloak and without his pauldron on his shoulder, Rhaego became even more alert and headed over.
Aramis pulled up short and sagged a little as Rhaego intercepted him. "Sorry, my friend, but you can't come with me on this mission."
Rhaego gurgled indignantly. He didn't see anyone else accompanying him.
Aramis patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going back to the encampment. And unfortunately, you will definitely draw attention."
Back to the encampment with the hordes of restless humans? Rhaego straightened stiffly and shot his rider his most disapproving scowl.
Aramis's lips twitched. "There's a ridge just to the south of the camp. You could take up a perch there to keep an eye out."
Rhaego furrowed his expression. He recalled the place. It wasn't nearly close enough, not if Aramis would end up needing help.
"It will have to be good enough," his human said, then gave him a farewell pat before turning to head off on foot.
Which left Rhaego no choice but to take to the skies. He circled the city and out over the encampment that had set up just outside its walls, staying high enough that he wouldn't draw obvious attention. It took him a while to locate Aramis from that height, and he wasn't able to spot him until he'd left the city. Rhaego tracked his progress to the woods where he lost him again under the trees, much to his irritation. And there were too many people milling about the encampment that he couldn't easily pick out Aramis once he re-emerged to mingle with them.
Vexed, he finally veered away toward the small ridge where a dragon might choose to sun himself all day and not spy on a bunch of rabble rousing humans.
He was soaring over the fields when Ayelet dipped into the currents beside him and asked what he was doing. Apparently she'd been out for her own leisurely flight when she'd spotted him.
He curtly said he was busy with Musketeer business, which he should have known would only excite her into wanting to help.
She flapped her wings to match his speed and asked if it had anything to do with the humans they'd observed that morning.
Rhaego huffed and said Aramis had gone back to infiltrate them, and he was to stand watch at a distance.
They reached the ridge and Rhaego pulled up to land on the rocky outcropping. Ayelet ended up zooming past but banked sharply to come back around and land next to him. She commented on how far away this perch was and it wasn't easy to see what was happening in the camp.
Rhaego snapped that they couldn't draw attention to themselves by getting closer.
Ayelet fell silent for a few moments after that, but then went on to say that these people were making a stand against the Spanish, and the Spanish were the ones who'd tortured Falkor and Rochefort so badly, so maybe this Emilie girl was right to march against them.
Rhaego rolled his eyes. He didn't like Rochefort. Or Falkor. The Spanish he didn't give a whit about one way or the other. He figured they were just like any other humans: good and bad mixed together. He knew that's what Savron or Vrita would tell Ayelet in response to her comment. Not that she'd been doing a very good job of listening to them lately. Savron had warned her to stay away from Falkor but she'd been spending time with him anyway.
Was that what her rider would say, he snipped. Did d'Artagnan hate the Spanish?
Ayelet cowed slightly. No, she admitted. She didn't think d'Artagnan hated anyone.
Rhaego suggested she pay more attention to him than Falkor. It may have come out a bit snidely, though, because she narrowed her eyes, and then in a huff, launched back into the air and flew away.
Rhaego grumbled to himself. Good riddance. He didn't need her pestering questions right now.
Still, he shifted awkwardly as he settled in for a solitary and distant watch on his own rider.