Evening My Lovelies

Sorry I missed updating this last night, this lockdown has me losing track of days :) On the plus side though the extra day of writing means this is a much longer chapter than usual :D I was going to split it into two chapters but figured you might all start to hate me if our boys didn't start to make some sort of progress on rescuing their friends :)

Notes On Reviews:

beeblegirl: Thanks for the review - Oh I know, I almost feel sorry for Rochey, he has NO idea what's about to come his way :) Enjoy the new chapter! x

Debbie (Guest): Thanks for the review - I know :D I'm channelling that deviousness tonight, hope you like it :) Enjoy the new chapter! x

Issai: Thanks for the review - Reaching Glenn is going to happen very soon, as for saving him? I am, at the moment anyway, leaning to him being saved, he's growing on me but we'll have to see when it comes to writing the chapter if my evil side decides to kill him off or not. Enjoy the new chapter! x

pallysd'Artagnan: Thanks for the review - That he didn't :) I'm quite looking forward to writing a furious Athos going after Rochey scene but we'll have to wait a little bit before that can happen. Enjoy the new chapter! x

WelshEssex: Thanks for the review - Porthos is a right hero at the moment, he's keeping everything together really well. I'm VERY much looking forward to Athos learning D'Art's true fate. Afraid that worry isn't going to be going any time soon :) Enjoy the new chapter! x

As always much love and many thanks for following/favouriting/reviewing/reading

Love you all!

Enjoy!

xxx

Chapter Twenty-Two: Buried IV

The pain radiating throughout his arm was nothing to Porthos as the larger musketeer ignored practically everything as he desperately tried to glean a clue to his youngest brother's location from the signet ring in his hand. He knew the younger musketeer likely had very little time left before the mission would turn from rescue to recovery and as such all other thoughts and distractions had to be ignored, like the desire to chase after Athos to inform the heartbroken swordsman that they hadn't killed their Gascon.

Turning the ring around in his hand he felt his heart jump into his throat as his eyes locked onto two small letters engraved underneath the coat-of-arms, somehow remaining undamaged from the explosion.

With hope and determination flooding his system in equal measure Porthos forced himself up off the ground, his uninjured hand reaching out for a shovel while his other carefully placed the ring in his pocket before reaching for one of their torches. "Hold on whelp," he whispered before all but charging back towards the graves, determined to find the headstone that bore the same markings like those on the ring.

Not being ones to question a bit of good luck, neither Fredrick nor Talbot wasted a moment once they located the small clue their former brother-in-arms had left for them. It had been a small, shakily drawn headstone with a cross on the top of it which told the two former musketeers where they needed to go. Neither wanted to spend much time on the thought that the drawing had been done in, what they could only assume was, Glenn's own blood. Nor did they wish to focus on the effort it must have taken the gravely injured man to do, deciding instead to hold onto the hope that one little picture ignited in both of them.

It wasn't until the pair were a corridor away from the exit to the graveyard that Talbot decided to voice a thought that had been plaguing him for a while, reaching out to pull Fredrick to a stop, earning himself a sharp look of annoyance and disbelief which he was quick to ignore as he quickly began to speak.

"Whoever is behind all of this is smart," he stated, speaking quickly as he could practically feel his friend's irritation growing. "They're not going to simply be waiting beside D'Artagnan for Athos and the others to turn up, its practically a death sentence. If I was them I would be observing the fallout from a different location, one close enough to enjoy it but far enough to be safe from any immediate retaliation."

Fredrick desperately wanted to ignore the logic in his friend's words but knew just who would suffer if he did. "You sound as though choosing D'Artagnan was the only option we were ever going to make?"

Talbot shrugged, his expression turning sympathetic and somewhat sad, "We both know Glenn would never have forgiven either of us if we forced them to chose him over the kid. Besides their protectiveness over the boy is practically legendary in Paris, it's hardly a stretch to come to that conclusion."

Again the logic was hard to accept but seeing as he had actually made the decision as to who to save Fredrick had no grounds to dispute it. Letting out a sigh the former musketeer ran a hand through his hair. "You patrolled here earlier, any idea where our perpetrator is hiding out?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Talbot allowed himself a small smile as he nodded in answer to Fredrick's question, however before he could voice his opinion the quiet air that had been surrounding them shattered as the sound of an explosion echoed through the halls.

"The kid," breathed Fredrick in disbelief and pain as he looked to his friend, both having come to the realization as to the likely source of the explosion. Both had the desire to race out to help their regiment brothers but were forced to harden their hearts to the pain the two younger musketeers were likely enduring right then as they focused their attention to the life they hoped they could still save if they were quick enough.

Passing yet another headstone which lacked the features he was desperate to find Porthos felt his frustration and helplessness growing. He had been throwing up prayer after desperate prayer in the frantic hope that D'Artagnan could fight through the panic likely threatening to overwhelm him and focus on the lesson he knew Athos had given him about how to act when in a situation he was now in, a situation they had all swore to prevent after the scare all those months ago.

His one comfort was his knowledge of the younger man's epic stubbornness and hard-headedness. It was extremely hard to change the Gascon's mind once it was set to something and he hoped that would work in the boy's favour for once, instead of the trouble it usually got him into.

It was during this thought process when a slightly distracted Porthos ended up tripping over something in the darkness, catching himself on a headstone mere moments away from knocking himself out on the stone.

Glad no one saw that he thought with an amused inward chuckle before spotting the engraving on the headstone he was holding, hope bubbling up within him as he took in the now all too familiar initials and coat-of-arms.

"D'Art," he breathed, his hands trembling as he quickly moved to secure his torch before beginning to frantically dig.

The earlier quiet had returned once the initial echoes from the explosions had faded, making it all the easier for the two former musketeers to pick up the quiet voices from the room in front of them once they were close enough. The familiarity of both voices causing the pair to freeze once they realized just who was speaking.

"Rochefort!" mouthed Fredrick, anger flashing in his eyes as he shared a look with his friend whose expression mirrored his own.

While the pair had not had the same experiences with the former red guard as their younger counterparts they were well versed in the man's schemes and plots against their former regiment. Treville had also informed them of the man's possible escape when he came to ask them for help so whilst they did not expect to have him involved in what was happening they were not all that surprised.

Rochefort's hatred for the musketeer regiment was well known and as such, neither man was willing to leave him alone with their injured friend a moment more than necessary, so after sharing a look with his companion Fredrick slowly reached for the door, his other hand silently unsheathing his sword.

He was going to die, that was the one thought that was going round and round in his head as he desperately fought against the panic and fear that grew within him with every passing second. It was becoming harder for him to keep his breaths shallow and even and as much as he hated himself for it, he could feel his belief in his brothers coming to his rescue fading as more time passed.

His time was running out fast and D'Artagnan knew it, he had started to feel out of it and his head was throbbing with a pain he wasn't entirely sure came from his earlier injury. With tears prickling the corners of his eyes and flowing down his cheeks the Gascon slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, reached into his pocket with trembling hands to pull out his father's pocket watch. His heart ached that it was too dark to see the beloved possession, even if it was held right to his face so instead he took comfort in feeling the familiar engraving as he absently started to hum a tune he had heard his father whistle often when working on the farm.

Slowly he was beginning to convince himself that he had made peace with his inevitable death, that he wasn't afraid, despite the fear and panic he knew were flooding his veins. In a way he was almost thankful it was something painless like this instead of what he knew Rochefort could have forced him to endure in his last moments. Again another part of him defiantly ignored this, reasoning the emotional torture he had endured was worse than anything Rochefort could have physically put him through.

It was during this internal battle when he heard it, a loud thud on the roof of the box that sent dirt raining down on the stunned Gascon, who paid it no attention as the tears in his eyes began to flood down his cheeks as hope unwillingly burst forth within him.

"HERE!" he cried desperately, his voice hoarse, weak and raspy as he hammered as best he could on the roof of the box, his limbs were shaking badly but he paid them no attention as he continued his weak assault. "I'M HERE!"

Porthos had let out an impressive curse when he hit the top of the coffin with a lot more force than he had intended due to his frantic desire to get to his brother as quick as possible. He hadn't wanted to risk setting off another bomb if Rochefort had rigged this one the same as the previous coffin, however, all thoughts quickly vanished when he heard a faint and alarmingly weak sounding cry from inside the box.

Tears sprung to the corners of the larger musketeer's eyes as he dropped to his knees, using his hands, uncaring of his injuries, to scoop the remaining dirt from the lid.

"D'ART!" he cried, thumping a hand down onto the lid, finally letting the tears fall from his eyes when a small thud followed his own.

"HANG ON D'ARTAGNAN!" he ordered as he went to work finishing up on clearing the lid so he could open the box holding his baby brother trapped.

However, unbeknownst to him, his arrival had unforeseen side-effects for the trapped Gascon, who, upon hearing his older brother's voice began to have difficultly breathing as the possibility of freedom being so close sent his emotions into overdrive.

It was taking longer than he would have liked to clear the dirt from the coffin but Porthos didn't want to risk opening the box only to drown his brother in soil, throughout the work he kept up a constant stream of reassuring words to his trapped brother, desperate to offer the man some comfort as he couldn't imagine what mindset the boy was currently in.

It was a few minutes into this that he realized the Gascon wasn't responding…

"D'Art?!" he called, his heart in his throat as he placed a hand on the coffin lid. Upon hearing no response the larger man decided he had no choice but to throw caution to the wind and force open the box. He had no idea just how long the Gascon had been trapped for but the idea that he might have finally run out of air with him so close sickened him enough to risk setting off any of Rochefort's traps as he used the shovel to force the coffin open.