The courtyard of the Black Dog was clamouring with people when d'Artagnan slowly made his way back through the woods in the watery morning light, confused and scared and grief stricken. Women were clutching their children close to their skirts, shielding them from the scene near the stables. Men look on, shocked, at the carnage.

Blood, thick and dark now, had congealed in pools over the cobblestones, mixing with the mud and remnants of the storm from the night before.

d'Artagnan, his legs shaking so much he had to lean on a low wall to stop himself from falling over, stared ahead, at the figure covered by a blanket on the ground.

He touched his neck, at the smooth skin. He didn't understand- he had felt the life ebbing from him, his lifeblood seeping through his fingers. He had died. He had been gone. So how was he still standing?

He looked up to the heavens, as if the Lord himself would be staring down, ready to offer instructions of some sort.

He looked down as nothing came. The lack of Devine orders made him feel sick- why had he been spared? Looking across to where his slain father lay, a sudden thought occurred to him- 'wake up….' He whispered to himself, willing his father to rise also. Perhaps they had both been spared?

Several weighted minutes passed. 'Come on, come on…' he pleaded, feeling the prickly sting of tears in the corner of his eyes as more people clamour around his father, who was still lying there, cold on the cobbles. 'Please…' he added, desperation making his voice falter.

He leant back into the wall, wiping his eyes with a balled fist as he came to the realisation that only he had been spared.

Looking around, he spotted a man standing by a tree, the reigns of his horse in his hands. He seemed to be staring at him. D'Artagnan swallowed hard as he realised a woman standing with a group of villagers was pointing at him, mouthing some words he couldn't understand due to the distance between them.

He suddenly felt very unsafe- he moved away from the wall and walked down the dirt road towards the main square, now uncomfortably aware that others were now talking loudly about him; he recognised one as the landlord, and others as patrons he and his father had eaten with the night before.

He didn't want to speak to them, to answer any questions- he didn't have any answers himself. He forced himself to breathe steady, to calm down. He clenched and released his hands, adrenaline fizzing in his fingers- a glint of silver caught his eyes as he walked. A knife, dropped and forgotten- he picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket, a muscle jumping painfully in his jaw as he walked.

He tensed as he heard the steady noise of hooves from behind him- he didn't look back, but assumed it was the man from beside the tree he had just seen. He moved to the side of the road to allow him to pass, yet he didn't.

Finally, after a few more minutes of being followed he slowed to a complete stop, glancing up at the stranger with barely contained hostility. 'Can I help you?' He muttered, eyes narrowed.

The man dismounted quickly, hand delving into his pocket as he rounded his horse to come to stand opposite d'Artagnan- before he could even raise his hands to defend himself the stranger pulled his hand out and revealed the flash of a sheathed dagger; twisting the blade he raised his hand and stuck d'Artagnan hard on the side of the head with the handle.

Catching the young man as he crumpled forwards into his chest, Athos looked up and down the dirt road; satisfied no one had seen them he grunted as he hitched the man up and onto his shoulder. He staggered to his horse, clicking his teeth to command Roger to kneel down- positioning the man in front of him, he too climbed upon his horse and commanded Roger to stand. The sooner they got out of here the better.

It was until over half an hour later, just as they were crossing a large, sodden field about thirty miles from the city, that the young man stirred- Athos peered down as he felt the man move against his chest, leaning forwards and grasping the side of the horse as he adjusted to the fact he was on a rapidly moving animal.

He also felt the man tense, as if thinking. He hoped he wasn't going to do what he thought he was going to do…

Suddenly the man moved forward and, in one fluid movement, threw his head back, catching Athos in the nose and almost sending him off the horse entirely. Athos' hands flew to his nose, giving the man enough time to move sideways and fall from the horse, leaving Athos to roll his eyes as he watched him somersault in the dirt, grunting in pain.

'For pity's sake…' he muttered as he stopped Roger- he looked back to see the younger man running as fast as he could in the opposite direction as if a pack of dogs were snapping at his heels. 'What's wrong with just a nice chat…' he added, sighing as he dismounted and reached into his inner coat pocket. He palmed the small knife, steeling himself as he began jogging forwards so he could aim better.

Finally in range, he stopped, drew his arm back and threw the knife as hard as he could- a mangled cry and a sudden thud told him he had met his mark.

Athos turned back and, once he had collected Roger, he made the slow walk forwards until he was level with the clearly dead young man, the knife buried deep between his shoulder blades, blood pooling on his back.

He sighed and massaged his nose, wincing at the cracking nose as the bone worked itself back into the right position. 'Why does it always take so long the first few times…' he muttered tersely as he looked down at the innate body. Suddenly the man gasped and coughed as life entered him once more- Athos squatted down and wrenched the knife from his back as the man rolled over, arms trying to reach the rapidly closing wound.

Athos stood back as he staggered upright, a shocked look on his face as he finally turned to him. 'You stabbed me!' He stated, voice hard yet confused at the same time.

'That I did.' Athos nodded, before nodding across to Roger. 'I need you to get back on the horse.'

'What's going on…' d'Artagnan muttered, eyes wide as he shook his head, panic rushing over him like a waterfall. 'This isn't real…this can't be real…'

'Look, we'll have a nice long chat about this later, but the main point is that you can't die, so if you can ju-' Athos was cut off as d'Artagnan suddenly withdrew a knife from his pocket and launched at him, stabbing him in the upper chest up to the hilt. He yelled out in pain as d'Artagnan stepped back, seemingly shocked at what he had done.

He cast the younger man a long-suffering look as he grasped the handle and wrenched the knife out, hissing in pain. 'I would really appreciate it-' he muttered as he stowed the bloodied knife in his coat, '-if you didn't do that again…'

'What the hell are you?' d'Artagnan whispered, nausea rising in his throat. He swallowed hard, putting a hand to his mouth as his stomach roiled.

'I told you- I'm the same as you.'

'W-what?' D'Artagnan muttered, mind whirring. 'You can't die either?'

'No.'

'How come? Why don't you die?'

'My name is Athos. I lead a group of other immortals. An army, I suppose. We were all shown visions of you- you belong with us. A fighter, a solider.' Athos shrugged, a twinge of pain sparking from the knife wound. 'You want some answers?' He asked, before motioning Roger once more. 'Get on the horse.'

d'Artagnan watched as Athos mounted, bringing the horse round and holding out a hand. They stared at each other for a few moments, as if working out each other's intentions. After a few weighted seconds d'Artagnan swallowed hard and grasped the proffered hand.

Once he was settled Athos kicked Roger on, the two men sitting in a strained silence as they moved through the field and into the forest.

'Why are we getting a cart?' d'Artagnan asked over the heads of a throng of villagers, watching as Athos handed a handful of Livre to a stout man, who pointed over to a large, roofed cart and a man in a hat that stood alongside.

'I'm tired. My horse is tired. I need supplies.' Athos answered drily. 'Any other questions?'

'I thought you said we needed-'

'Look, I don't need you to worry over this. It's not your problem- just sit in it and shut up, alright?' He nodded to the cart. 'I'll be back in five minutes.'

'You're not my father!' d'Artagnan hissed, anger dancing behind his eyes.

Athos ignored the jibe and walked off, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned the corner. Why did this new one have to be so annoying?

He busied himself with finding supplies and returned to find Pierre, his old friend and frequent driver when he was around these parts, already sitting up at the cart, and the younger man stood alongside, arms crossed.

'Here.' Athos muttered, flinging a fresh change of clothes at him, before unstoppering a bottle of wine and drinking straight from the bottle. 'You can't walk around with blood on your shirt. People will talk.'

Scowling, d'Artagnan moved to the other side of the cart to change, reappearing to find Athos in the cart. 'We won't get there until next week if you don't hurry up.' He called from inside.

Scoffing, d'Artagnan got in, and no sooner had he sat down Athos tapped the side to signal to the driver to move off.

d'Artagnan eyed the bag next to Athos; it glinted in the sunlight. 'Weapons?'

'How astute.' Athos nodded, eyes out of the window as he watched the village meld into countryside as they made their way to the outskirts of Paris. 'Your power of perception is second to none.'

'So…' d'Artagnan leant back and felt his neck again, the same panic and confusion begin to settle over him like a cloud. 'Why me?'

'Why any of us?' Athos replied, finally turning to look at him. 'We've asked ourselves the same questions over the years. We just don't know.'

'You don't know?' d'Artagnan stared at him. 'You said you had answers!' He added hotly.

'I didn't say you'd like them, lad.'

'It's God.' d'Artagnan nodded, looking up. 'It has to be. He has a plan for me, I know it.'

'Whatever has done this, it's definitely not your God.' Athos scoffed, shaking his head. 'Sorry.'

'It has to be!' d'Artagnan frowned as he comprehended the words. 'What do you mean, your God? He's your God too.'

'Oh no, not mine. Mine is from a time before yours.' Athos shrugged, taking another swing of wine. 'You know, there was a time that I was worshipped as a God…'

d'Artagnan could do no more than just sit back, nonplussed.

Athos' words did nothing to quell his rising panic. He could feel his throat closing as he struggled to breathe.

'You should go to sleep. We'll get to Paris in the next two hours.' Athos said, before settling down against the side of the cart, closing his eyes immediately.

Of all the things he could have imagined to wake up to, being tied fast against the side of a cart was not one of them. Athos sighed as he opened his eyes, looking up at d'Artagnan; he had pilfered a gun from his weapons bag and was currently pointing it at Pierre through the small widow, who looked back nervously.

'What are you doing, lad?' He spoke into the silence, trying his hardest not to sound annoyed.

'Stop the cart. I'm getting off.'

'Look, why don't we just talk-'

'You're not taking me to Paris. I don't want to go- I have things to do, I can't go with you.'

'Put the gun down, Pierre hasn't done anything wrong…'

'I said stop!' D'Artagnan's eyes widened as the cart inexplicably sped up. 'Stop the cart.'

'He won't shoot you, Pierre.' Athos assured him, before pulling out his gun. 'I will.' He uttered a command in a language d'Artagnan didn't understand before a shot ran out and Pierre slumped, the horse now barrelling out of control.

'Jesus…' d'Artagnan gasped, before abandoning his gun and launching himself forwards to grasp the reigns from Pierre and wrest control back from the frightened horse.

The cart came to a stop. Athos sighed as he used yet another hidden knife to cut his binds. He kicked the door open and walked onto a dirt road, coming behind d'Artagnan as he too disembarked.'Now you've stopped playing around, perhaps we can crack on, now-' his eyes widened as d'Artagnan yelled out and punched him in the face.

He smiled sardonically as he felt blood dribble down his chin. His smile stayed fixed to his face as d'Artagnan again launched at him, shouting angrily. Blocking the shot Athos stepped back, changing his stance as the younger man jabbed, again and again, not caring what he hit.

Suddenly he threw himself at him and pulled him sideways, away from the cart.

Darting in the opposite direction, d'Artagnan delved into the weapons bag and pulled out a rapier.

'What, no fair fight?' Athos scolded, shaking his head.

Enraged, d'Artagnan scoffed and pulled out another rapier and threw it across to to Athos. He realised his mistake instantly as Athos wielded it like a profession on his palms, like it was an extra appendage.

'You want to play with the big boys, that's fine…' he muttered, rolling his shoulder and moving into a fighter stance. 'Give me your best go.'

d'Artagnan needed no encouragement- Athos was quite impressed by his footwork, yet his hand eye coordination needed urgent work.

One or twice he had to step back as the younger man lurched forwards with a yell, his move highly illegal in every variant of the rules of combat.

Smiling to himself at the worthy challenge, Athos chanced some questionable moves of his own- he stepped forward and, after successfully parrying a blow, punched d'Artagnan in the side of the head, sending him skittering to the side.

Eyes ablaze with fury, a cut erupting above his eyebrow, d'Artagnan gave as good as he got- launching forwards with a yell he drew Athos towards him using the blade and head butted him, sending him backwards.

Finally fed up with the swordplay, d'Artagnan moved forwards, working the blade as hard and fast as he could, not caring what he was doing- Athos worked as best as he could to keep up, before he too tired of this. They were wasting time- they needed to get to Paris with the others.

Grunting with exertion he stepped forwards, hand shooting out to reach d'Artagnan's forearm. Snapping his wrist took surprisingly little force- as the younger man reeled from the pain he followed it up with a hard kick to the side of his shin, dislodging the bone with such force it tore the skin and erupted from his trousers.

He fell like his strings has been cut, breathing heavily and gasping in agony.

'Stay down.' Athos warned, bringing his rapier down, the point just under d'Artagnan's chin. 'No more. Enough.'

Defeated, d'Artagnan slumped, looking down at his leg with horror.

'Don't panic.' Athos assured him, stepping back and wiping his face. 'Give it a minute,'

Sure enough, after a few moments the bones snapped into place and the wounds stitched themselves back together. D'Artagnan watched it happen with his mouth open, not sure what to feel.

'We need to go.' Athos held out a hand. 'Now.'

D'Artagnan stared up at the hand, and then into the man's eyes. He had to trust him- there was no other way he could understand this if he didn't go with him.

'You got a name?' He asked as he took the hand and hauled himself up.

'I told you my name. Call me Athos.' He didn't blame the man for forgetting- he had a lot to deal with.

'Well, Athos- and you can call me d'Artagnan by the way, since you never asked-it's a good job I know how to drive a horse and cart-' he motioned towards Pierre, who was still slumped in the cab. 'Otherwise we'd be walking to Paris.'

'No need, I only trust Pierre with driving me.' Athos smiled, walking over and tapping Pierre on the shoulder. The man rose at once, casting d'Artagnan an amused look as he gathered the reigns again.

'What the-'

'Pierre and I go way back- he was a sailor, travelled the world.' Athos muttered as he got back onto the cart. 'You don't speak any Slavic, do you? He snorted as d'Artagnan shook his head. 'Come on, get in.' He added, sitting back.

Snorting under his breath, d'Artagnan stepped inside the cart, slamming the door behind him as Pierre started off again, heading to the outskirts of Paris.