A/N: And now that Whumptober is done, we are back to the dragon rider verse! Thank you beeblegirl, Undertheoaktrees, pallysAramisRios, and SnidgetHex for reviewing the last episode!
Some dialogue from 2x3; it's not mine.
Chapter 1
Thunder rumbled and rain pattered heavily on the roof of the mess. Athos sat at one of the tables, a half eaten dinner pushed slightly to the side, his attention on the pistol he was cleaning. Not that he had much call to use it anymore. As captain of the Musketeers, he no longer went on missions away from Paris, and lately he wasn't even permitted to accompany the King on his dragon flights or stand at his side, thanks to the threat his ex-wife turned sorceress posed to him.
The drumming rain was an apt atmosphere for Athos's mood.
It also concealed the footsteps of the person coming up behind him. One arm snaked across his chest while another slid a knife up under his chin. Athos went rigid as a hoarse, accented voice breathed hotly in his ear.
"I warn you, I am a desperate man. If you resist, I will kill you."
Athos's pistol was still in his hand, but it wasn't loaded.
"I want an audience with your King," the intruder continued. "And I have no time to waste."
The sound of another gun cocking came from close to Athos's right.
"Drop it," Aramis said.
A second followed on Athos's other side.
"Do as he says," Porthos growled. "Or we'll kill you where you stand."
How fortunate his brothers had been engaged in equally dour brooding in the dark corners of the mess, the three of them keeping each other silent but steadfast company.
The intruder faltered at finding himself abruptly outnumbered, and after a beat of hesitation, pulled back. Athos stood and shrugged away from him roughly, crossing to the other side of the table to face his attacker. He frowned in confusion, the face triggering a flicker of recognition from one of his many intelligence briefings.
"I know you. You're in the Spanish Army."
Neither Aramis nor Porthos took their eyes or aim off the black man.
"This is General Tariq Alaman," Athos informed them.
"Former General," Alaman corrected. "Now persecuted by my own country. I have come here to offer my services to France. Believe me, your King will want to see what I have brought for him."
Athos regarded him shrewdly. A former Spanish general sneaking into the Musketeer garrison at night, accosting the captain…it did not inspire mutual trust.
"You have to know we will not simply take you to see the King," he said. "Not without more information."
The general's jaw ticked, but he held himself tall and proud. "I have a new form of gunpowder, one that will be Spain's decisive weapon in a future war with France should they get their hands on it. I am prepared to give up its formula."
Athos narrowed his gaze. "At what price?"
"The Spanish have kidnapped my daughter. They are holding her here, in Paris. I want her back."
"What makes you so sure she's being held here?" Aramis asked.
"We fled Spain together. We thought we were safe in Paris. We were followed by General Baltasar and his Spanish agents. She went to the market. I haven't seen her since."
"Then she might be dead by now," Athos pointed out.
"No," Alaman replied staunchly. "She is the bait. It is me they want. Not her." He drew his shoulders back further. "Will you take me to see the King or not?"
Athos considered it for a long moment. "In the morning," he finally agreed. "Porthos, see the general gets a bed for tonight."
Aramis and Porthos finally lowered their weapons, and Porthos gestured gruffly for Alaman to accompany him out. The general paused to give Athos an assessing look, perhaps to judge if he was concealing any deceit, then obliged.
"Do you think this Alaman is sincere?" Aramis asked when they'd gone out into the storm.
"Why risk so much if he isn't?" Athos replied.
Aramis canted his head at that. "What about the King?"
Athos sighed. Louis was not going to want to see him. But Athos was still captain of the Musketeers and this was sensitive business, which meant he was personally going to walk Alaman to the palace and oversee his audience with the King.
"He can't avoid us forever."
.o.0.o.
Athos sent word to Treville first the following morning, apprising the First Minister of the situation and letting him act as a sort of buffer between the musketeers and the King. Then Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan escorted Alaman to the Louvre, though the general requested they remain outside for a demonstration of this new gunpowder he was toting.
A few moments later, the King emerged with Treville, two advisors, attendants, and a pair of palace guards. Louis was still in his nightgown.
"I hate getting up at this unearthly hour, Treville," he lamented. "Why do people harp on about the beauty of the sunrise? It happens every day with tedious regularity."
The musketeers and Alaman bowed. Louis flicked a nervous look over them all.
Alaman straightened and went to crouch down at the base of one of the statues in the garden's gravel path. He took a vial from the inside of his coat and sprinkled some white powder onto the stone, then pinned a length of match cord in place next to it.
"Please, move back, back," he told the musketeers. "Please, Your Majesty, back."
They were already standing several feet away but nevertheless turned to put more distance between them and the statue.
"This had better be good, Athos," Louis muttered.
Athos certainly hoped so as well. There was barely enough powder there to fire a musket.
Alaman bent down again and struck a flint to light the cord, then quickly moved away. They all watched the fuse burn down toward the minuscule amount of powder…and then the entire statue exploded.
Everyone stumbled back in surprise. Athos saw Porthos whip out his sword in response.
The statue's head rolled across the gravel to come to a stop at the King's slippered feet. Louis laughed in delight and clapped his hands. Athos shared an impressed look with Treville. They all gathered around Alaman, coughing at the dust still billowing through the air.
The general held up his small, leather-bound vial. "A few grains of this miraculous powder could sink a galleon." He pulled a strip of parchment from a band around his wrist and held it out to Louis. "This paper contains the formula for the gunpowder."
The King took it and unrolled the strip. "But it's in code."
"Help me rescue my daughter and the machine needed to decipher it is yours."
"Why are you doing this?" Treville asked.
"Spain has turned against my people, the Moors. We are exiled or murdered. I am a fugitive, a wanted man. My daughter is all I have left in the world." Alaman turned to Louis. "Do we have a deal?"
Louis considered it for a moment, then nodded to Athos. "Proceed, Captain." He then quickly turned to go back inside the palace. Apparently, not even the allure of miraculous gunpowder could make him forget a witch was on the loose and that standing too close to Athos and the others could get him caught in the crossfire.
Treville remained. "Normally we would consult with the Spanish ambassador," he said. "But Spain has yet to send a replacement."
Alaman furrowed his brow. "What happened to Perales?"
"He's dead."
The general looked surprised. "I had not heard that."
"Long story," d'Artagnan muttered.
"I will make inquiries with the ambassador's remaining staff," Treville went on. "If your daughter is indeed being held hostage, the agents must have a way to get word to you."
Alaman nodded. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us yet," Athos cautioned.
All they had done was struck a deal.
Now they had to fulfill it.
.o.0.o.
Rochefort stood on one of the Louvre's verandas, pondering his current dilemma. As official witch hunter to the King, it was his task to hunt down the witch Milady and bring her to justice. Doing so would only endear himself further to the King. On the other hand, her only goal—for the moment—was to destroy the Musketeers. And that was something Rochefort had no argument with.
So he had perhaps been dallying a bit more than he would have on any other hunt. It was a precarious tightrope he was walking, he knew that. He'd been able to prey on the King's fear of witches to weaken Louis's trust in his musketeers. But Rochefort's failure to produce results also ran the risk of backfiring and turning that displeasure back on himself.
Unfortunately, it wasn't just that he was taking his time hunting Milady; the witch was proving to be quite formidable, employing counter spells to throw off his ability to track her magic usage. He was going to have to fight fire with fire.
And just hope that in the meantime, she finally took out one or two of those musketeers.
He heard the doors a little ways down open and the Queen stepped outside. The morning sunlight caught her hair and splashed it with gold.
"Your Majesty," he greeted with a bow.
Her expression brightened with delight. "Rochefort. I had not expected to find you here."
He beamed; so she had given thought to where he might be.
"A fortuitous passing, then," he replied.
"I thought perhaps you would be advising the King on this business with the Spanish."
"I'm sure the Musketeers have it well in hand," he said smoothly. It was fortunate he'd killed Perales; he could well imagine how the ambassador would be pestering him to handle this situation with the traitorous general when Rochefort cared little for who ended up with the gunpowder and cipher.
Anne nodded. "Of course, you have enough to deal with hunting this witch." Her expression turned troubled.
Rochefort took a small step closer. "Your Majesty?" he prompted.
She tried to shake it off. "Have you made any progress? The King grows more fearful every day this witch remains a threat." She hesitated, ducking her gaze abashedly. "It is sometimes contagious."
Rochefort closed the distance between them, almost reaching out to offer comfort but catching himself at the last moment. "I have a new avenue for tracking down this witch that I was just about to employ," he said earnestly. "Have no fear, Your Majesty. I will make sure no harm comes to you."
Anne graced him with a small smile. "Thank you, Rochefort. Your dedication reassures me."
He stepped back so he could bow respectfully. "If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, I will get right on it."
As much as he would like for this witch to rid them all of the musketeers, his devotion to the Queen superseded everything. Rochefort would always put her well-being and faith in him above all else.
.o.0.o.
The woods were deadly silent, every critter from buck to mouse afraid to venture from their dens within fifty feet of the copse of trees where Milady stood, stirring her potions. She had set up a small cauldron over a camp fire, needing the open air for this next casting.
She wasn't worried about being spotted; she was on the King's personal hunting grounds and her spies had told her Louis was barely leaving the palace these days. It was illegal for anyone else to hunt on his property, but should some peasant be so bold as to try it, they would find themselves the prey. Milady had told Athos she was saving murder for later, but that didn't include the simple silencing of unfortunate witnesses.
The brew inside bubbled and frothed. Milady leaned down and whispered sinister susurrations over it. Tendrils of smoke began to waft up, and she blew on them, sending them up into the air and toward the city.
Her lips curved upward. Toward her next target.