d'Artagnan pulled a tired, gloved hand down his wet face and peered up at the sky as the rain thrashed down onto the ground, covering everything in its path. They were on the outskirts of Paris, and had ridden on well into the night in their haste to get to the city by dawn.
'We should find somewhere to shelter for the night!' He called down from atop his horse to his father, who had dismounted his horse to walk alongside it, using the animal as a shield against the driving wind. 'We'll drown if we don't!' He added with a wry smile.
His father snorted, shaking his head ruefully. 'If we press on we will make it in record time!' He replied, shaking his head like a dog, water flicking everywhere as it came off his hood.
'We won't look very good before the King if we are both dying of chill!' D'Artagnan pointed out, shivering.
His father considered, sniffling himself. 'I really could do with a bowl of thick stew..' he muttered to himself. They looked up as they heard the sound of wood banging against stone- the sign for an inn, he could see. The black dog.
'Come on lad,' he smiled, shuddering as he started walking with vigour. 'Let's hope they have room!'
'And enough stew!' D'Artagnan smiled, grinning as his father shot him a look as they rode on.
After a hearty meal of rabbit stew and a heel of crusty bread, they had retired for the night. d'Artagnan, however, found that he could not sleep. He tossed and turned on his thin bed, and lamented his even thinner pillow. He wondered if someone had actually stolen the feathers; swinging his long legs off the bed he looked out of the window, at the rain still hammering down onto the stony courtyard beyond his room.
He stood and stretched, sighing against the lack of sleep. He walked over to the window and put his hands on the sill, looking out at the deserted area. He frowned as he saw a shadowed figure suddenly dart into the courtyard, making his way to the stables.
He watched as the man opened the wooden door and stepped inside, where d'Artagnan could now hear him rootling about, searching.
A feeling of injustice filled his veins- the innkeeper, as much as he had seen of him, was a good man, generous with his time as well as his hospitality. He didn't deserve this.
Pushing himself away from the window he turned in order to grab his shoes and cloak- he startled as he walked straight into another shadowed figure standing behind him.
'I thought you might like a nightcap- I heard you tossing and turning from my room.' His father spoke into the silence, bottle in hand.
'Don't do that!' d'Artagnan muttered, clutching his chest with a rueful shake of his head. 'I think there's a thief in the stables. I'm going to take a look…'
'd'Artagnan…' his father warned, yet he didn't try to stop his son, instead watching as he gathered his boots and pulled them on. He had taught his son from a young age to always think of others, and felt nothing but pride as he watched as he shouldered his cloak. 'Be careful!' He called instead, before turning and walking to the window himself, peering nervously down as he waited for his son to appear.
The mud squelched under d'Artagnan's boots as he made his way through to the cobbled courtyard- he had no weapon, save for the large rock he had scooped up; he hoped the man ahead was also unarmed.
That hope died in the air as he stepped into the shelter of the stable and saw the large blade in the thief's hand. He was rifling through some drawers, a full bag already slung over his shoulder.
'You shouldn't be here!' He yelled against the rain outside.
The man startled, yet seemed prepared for such an interruption- he threw himself forwards, blade arching in the air.
d'Artagnan barely had time to launch himself backwards to avoid the knife- seconds later and the man was on him, bringing him forwards into the courtyard and down to the ground as he used his weight to knock d'Artagnan to the floor, punching him in the face as he did so.
The two men grappled in the mud- the man grunted out in pain as d'Artagnan landed a blow to his jaw, before the Gascon had to use both hand to stop the man stabbing him as he drew his arm backwards to strike once more.
d'Artagnan yelled out as he kicked the man in the stomach, sending him to the side a few inches; enough time for the younger man to scrabble upright, clutching his face and his split lip, blood dribbling down his chin.
With a garbled cry the man darted forwards- d'Artagnan moved to one side, yet the man was ready- he fisted the blade now, eyes glinting as he moved in for the final move.
'NO!' d'Artagnan heard a cry from somewhere behind him, before he was grasped by the shoulder and flung aside, just as the blade came down, embedding in the new arrival's abdomen.
'No!' d'Artagnan cried as the thief cruelly ripped the blade out- his father clutched at the wound, his face ashen white even in the darkness.
D'Artganan gave the thief no second thought as he rushed forwards to catch his father; he clasped his body close, helping him to the sodden ground as his legs finally gave way.
'No, no…papa…' he sobbed, tears mixing in with the rain that fell on his father's face, now taut with pain. 'Why did you come out?' He cried, pulling him close across his lap.
'You w-were…l-losing…' his father replied, a bubble of blood rising and bursting at the corner of his mouth as he attempted a chuckle.
'I was doing fine…' d'Artagnan snorted wetly, shaking his head. He rocked his father back and forth, the blood from his stomach pooling onto his own hands as his father struggled to take in his next breath.
'No, no…stay with me…don't leave me alone….' He whispered, sobs racking his body. 'I need you…' he added, squeezing his eyes shut as tears stung his eyes.
'I-I'll always be-be….here…' his father said, voice barely more than a whisper, before he lifted a hand and placed it against his son's chest, above his heart. 'In h-here…'
'No, no…' d'Artagnan shook his head as his father let his hand fall, heavy now, onto his own chest. 'Help!' He called into the night, conscious that no one had even come out to check what all the commotion was about. 'Someone help us!'
He looked back down as his father coughed painfully, his face now impossibly pale. 'Stay with me papa…' he whispered, bringing his head down so their foreheads touched. 'Don't leave me here…'
Moving his head back up, d'Artagnan sucked in a ragged breath as he watched his father's features finally settle, before his eyes, still boring into his son's, stopped moving completely.
Sobbing, d'Artagnan drew his father's body upwards, rocking him back and forth. He couldn't believe it. He was gone.
Anger trickled in to join the grief. He looked up, at the direction that the thief had gone. Maybe he could still catch him. He had to pay for what he had done.
Gently dropping his father back to the muddy ground he scrambled up, picking up the large rock as he did so. Wiping bloodied hands on his trousers he took off at a run, eyes peeled for the thief.
He found him running through a wooded path, obviously thinking no one would be coming after him- running like the hounds of hell itself were snapping at his heels d'Artagnan ran, arms pumping and chest heaving with exertion, until he had caught up- with a yell of anger that surprised even him, he threw himself forwards, grasping the man around the waist and using his body weight to pull him to the ground.
The man gasped out in surprise as his face his mud- he kicked out at the younger man, in the head, in the shoulder. d'Artagnan took all the blows, hardly feeling it as his adrenaline filled every nerve fibre. He scrabbled up the man's body, straddling him with the rock raised high above his head, eyes alight with fury.
Just as he brought it down the man punched him in the stomach, throwing him back, winded. It gave the man enough time to reach down for his blade- before d'Artagnan could do anything more, the thief arced the knife in a large semicircle, cutting the Gascon's throat.
Reeling backwards, clutching his torn throat, the man used the time to kick himself onwards, where he scrabbled up and, without a backwards glance, ran as fast as he could into the darkness.
Lurching upwards, d'Artagnan struggled to get up- his boots held no purchase in the mud. He grasped as his throat, felt blood pour down his hands and down his arms, hot and thick.
He gabbled out a breath, sinking down onto his side, eyes wide as he saw he was totally alone. He tried calling out, for help, for his father, yet no words came. He moved onto his back, rain falling onto his face as the blood pooled on the ground.
He felt strangely calm as death came to him. He felt warm, safe. He would see his father again.
When death finally came he welcomed it, to be out of this pain at last…
No one was more surprised than he was when life hurtled back into his body ten minutes later, pulling him back into the mortal realm with a disorienting thud.
Sheltering under a canopy of stretched boiled leather, four men started awake from their dreams, echoes and scraps of someone else's memory filling their minds like acid.
'What…?' Aramis gasped out, pushing a heel of his hand into his eyes as Porthos draped an arm over his leg comfortingly.
'No..no…' Athos growled from opposite them, panic filling his chest as he processed what he had just seen. 'Not another one…'
'A young man…' Porthos affirmed, reaching into his bag and pulling out his sketchbook, already working furiously at the paper. 'He was at an inn…the Black Dog I think…'
'Brown hair.' Aramis added, shaking slightly as he thought back to what he had seen. 'Brown leather coat of some kind…'
'I saw another man with him.' Marsac said, unstoppering a bottle and taking a draught of wine. 'He held him as he died…'
'He's going to be frightened, confused…' Aramis muttered, eyes turning to Athos. 'We need to find him.'
'What? No we need to lay low- we've already possibly been compromised, and-'
'And whose fault was that?' Porthos growled in response to Marsac's words, not taking his eyes off his work as he drew.
'He's going to be scared, Marsac. Confused- he's going to feel like he's alone in the world unless we find him.' Aramis said, voice not inviting a reply. 'Surely you still remember what it felt like, the first time?'
Shaking his head, Marsac took another drink, looking now to Athos, who had his head in his hands, a worried look on his own face.
'It's been 200 years…' he said, more to himself than the others. 'Why now?'
'Everything happens for a reason, Athos.' Aramis smiled over at him. 'He needs our help.'
Athos looked over at him, considering as he calmed himself down. Finally he stood up, throwing his things into his bag.
'The inn isn't far,' Marsac muttered, 'half a days ride from here, I've been there before.'
'I'll go and get him.' Athos nodded, finally shouldering his bag. 'Go to the safe house near the city, hopefully it's not been compromised.'
He looked down as Porthos ripped the page from his sketchbook and handed it to him. 'Jesus, he's just a child…' he muttered, before scrunching the paper in his hand and pocketing it.
Without another word he walked into the night- the others watched his retreating back, before he was swallowed entirely by the darkness of the night.