Five minutes earlier….
Aramis sighed as he watched Athos' retreating back, heading for the door after d'Artagnan. 'I should go after him,' he muttered to Porthos, who had lain back down, wiping his face tiredly. 'They might need my help.'
'Relax, Aramis, they'll be fine.' Porthos smiled, reaching up and grasping Aramis' wrist gently and pulling him down onto his back next to him. 'Athos will bring him back.' He added, pressing a kiss onto Aramis' temple and drawing patterns onto his shoulder, the way he always did when Aramis was anxious about something.
It was something of a ritual they had developed after so many years together- Porthos liked to mull his problems over, talk it through with Aramis over a drink or in the early mornings when everyone else was still asleep, while Aramis was more inward and tended to keep his worries inside, only letting them out when they had festered enough to make him withdrawn, or even ill. Porthos tried to remedy that wherever he could.
Aramis turned and smiled at his lover; they locked eyes for a few moments, a silent understanding passing between them before Aramis snorted lightly and leaned forwards, catching Porthos' lips with his own for a second. 'We should get some sleep.' He muttered as he drew back- they both turned around as Marsac kicked off his covers with a sigh, wiping a hand down his face.
'You should try and sleep.' Porthos called to him as he pulled on his boots. 'We have a long few days ahead of us.'
'Can't sleep. Thinking too much.' Marsac replied, standing up. He was restless, and Rochefort's words were still ringing in his mind, and all this with d'Artagnan made him more conflicted, yet almost certain he had done the right thing.
The poor lad was over his head, as they all were..if Rochefort could find a cure, as promised, then their troubles would soon be over…
'Where are you going?' Aramis asked, all traces of sleep also gone from his own mind; there was no way he could relax now. He sat up too and bent down to lace up his own boots.
'Nowhere. Just into the living area-' Marsac nodded to the fireplace, and Athos' abandoned armchair. 'I just don't fancy getting a nail up through my foot as I walk there- I never much liked dying from infected feet…'
Aramis chuckled at that, nodding his agreement. 'I found an interesting book on one of the shelves in the parlour. I might get some reading done while they're outside,' he muttered to Porthos, who smiled after him as he left the room to fetch the book.
'You got any cards?' He called to Marsac, who was busy unstoppering a wine bottle.
'On the table.' He answered, grunting as he finally got the cork out and poured wine into two small glasses. 'You playing?'
'I might play a few games, seeing as I'm now wide awake,' Porthos nodded, pulling on his jacket and stuffing his feet into his boots.
He sat heavily into another armchair, a cloud of dust erupting around him as he relaxed into it. They both looked round as they heard the scraping of wood against stone. Aramis looked up from where he was dragging a chair out from the table to sit down. 'Found it,' he muttered with a smile, pulling a plate of buttered bread towards him as he opened the book to begin reading.
There was only a few seconds of peace before there was an almighty bang at the door, startling all three men as two large iron balls were thrown, smoking, into the room. Porthos was up before they hit the floor, eyes wide as he threw himself towards Aramis, pulling the man off his chair and down onto the floor as the two grenades exploded, sending shrapnel skittering in every direction.
'Go, go!' He shouted above the defending noise and subsequent ringing in their ears as he pushed Aramis onwards, mercifully unharmed.
'Marsac!' Aramis called- both men were up on their feet in seconds, although totally unarmed. Looking around, Aramis swore as he saw Marsac still in the armchair, his stomach area torn and intestines exposed, blood peppering his dead face. They tensed as a horde of armoured men moved into the room, their guns and swords drawn- taken completely by surprise it was all they could do to fend the men off by hand as they advanced. From somewhere in the crowd Porthos heard an order of 'don't shoot them!' ring out.
As one came close he threw himself at him, growling in anger as he wrenched the sword away from him and used the weapon to cut him down.
'Porthos!' Aramis yelled in warning, before punching an oncoming man in the face and sending him staggering backwards.
'Look out!' Porthos called, but it was too late- Aramis was rushed by three men, and even with his supreme fighting skills and prowess he was quickly overwhelmed. Porthos could only watch as one of the men stabbed Aramis in the stomach, sending him to his knees, dead before he hit the floor.
'No!' Porthos yelled, a renewed fight erupting in his chest as he launched himself at the three men now crowding around Aramis- with an almost inhuman cry of anger he cut each man down where they stood, before anchoring himself between Aramis' prone body and the oncoming men, now wielding guns in close quarters.
Breathing heavily, Porthos did the best he could as the men advanced- as each man dropped like a stone in front of him, blood spattering the floor, he willed Aramis to wake up. He didn't dare chance a look down; suddenly a man surged forwards and struck him in the temple with the stock of his gun with such force that, as Porthos fell to the floor next to Aramis, he felt his skull break, sending shards of bone into his brain, killing him instantly.
As the chaos stopped, the men looked around, wide eyed, at the carnage. 'Get them in the cart,' one of them ordered after a few weighted seconds. 'I want at least six men with them, and I want their hands bound.'
Athos stepped towards the small house as quietly as he could, gun drawn, eyes narrowed. He could feel d'Artagnan stepping close behind him, and wished he had a weapon to give him.
'Aramis? Porthos?' He called into the silence. He didn't like the sound of this silence at all.
They both advanced round the corner, each holding their breaths as they finally entered the room.
'Shit…' Athos breathed as he saw Marsac's body in the armchair, his innards in his lap.
'Oh…' d'Artagnan couldn't finish his sentence. Eyes wide, he felt his stomach roil at the sight as Athos moved closer, squatting down next to Marsac and looking him over.
'Go and find Aramis and Porthos.' Athos instructed, holding out his gun.
'I've never shot a pistol before,' d'Artagnan muttered, taking it anyway.
'Don't hold it by the end with the hole in it. Aim vaguely in the direction of a bad guy if you find one. Press that little metal bit to shoot.' Athos replied, not taking his eyes off Marsac. 'Oh, and don't drop it. It's my favourite.'
'Right…' d'Artagnan rolled his eyes at his words, moving off, eyes peeled for the other two men.
'Come on…wake up…' Athos muttered, panic rearing in his chest as Marsac still didn't stir. He looked down, at the blood dripping onto his trousers from his obliterated stomach.
'Come back to me, Marsac,' he willed, stepping forwards and grasping either side of his face, shaking it slightly. 'Come on!' He couldn't lose another one.
'Come on!' He growled, louder now, pushing their foreheads together as if that could make Marsac come alive any faster- it seemed to do the trick, however, as Marsac suddenly inhaled loudly, before coughing hard and groaning as he was enveloped in agony.
'Welcome back, asshole.' Athos nodded to him as he moved back, watching as Marsac drew in another haggard breath, screwing his face up as his stomach began to knit itself back together. 'Thanks for taking your time.'
'Arghh..' Marsac groaned, sucking air through his teeth. 'It hurts everywhere.'
They both looked up as d'Artagnan came back into view, standing beside Athos, eyes wide. 'They're not here.' He muttered, worry settling in his chest.
He looked down as Marsac coughed wetly, groaning. 'How bad is it?' He asked. D'Artagnan quirked an eyebrow, quite unsure of how to respond.
Athos chuckled, letting out the tension he had been carrying as he stood up. 'It's an improvement.' He replied, smirking as Marsac let out a breathy laugh.
'How many?' He asked, taking back his gun from d'Artagnan and checking the barrel.
'I don't know.' Marsac replied, peering down at his stomach, face pale.
'Where are Aramis and Porthos?'
'I don't know!' Marsac replied, voice now taut and sharp. 'We-we were playing cards, Aramis was reading. Then I took a grenade and then, nothing…' he sat back, wheezing slightly as d'Artagnan and Athos looked on.
Meanwhile, standing in the shadows of a large copse of trees, illuminated by the moonlight, Rochefort stood surveying the scene. Two down, three to go, if Hugh could be believed. He looked to his right and watched as his men struggled to lift Aramis and Porthos into the covered wooden cart.
'Easy with them.' He growled as he walked nearer, peering down at the two corpses as the men dropped them by the cart. 'These could be my way to the top.' He muttered, more to himself than the others. He looked to one of the men, face now set. 'Bring them and the others to the dungeons. Before we present them to the palace, we must have undeniable proof of their abilities.'
He stepped back as Aramis and Porthos were roughly picked up and their bodies slumped onto the floor of the cart, before six brawny men joined them, closing the barred door behind them.
As they watched Marsac's stomach stitch itself back together, Athos suddenly had a horrible, sickly thought. 'They're coming back. They want all of us.'
'How did they even know we were here?' D'Artagnan frowned.
'The man we didn't kill. He must've lived and told someone…' Athos wasn't concerned about the whys, just what they were going to do about it. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, shaking his head. 'I saw a cart outside. There must be a horse we can borrow- both of you, wait here.' He turned to the door. 'Gather Aramis and Porthos' belongings. Wait for my signal.' With that, he strode off, back outside.
'What signal?' D'Artagnan called after him, before sighing and turning to Marsac as he let out a pained chuckle.
'We'll know it when we see it, don't worry.' He assured him, before letting out a low groan. 'By the way,' he muttered, pointing at his rapidly healing stomach. 'It's not always like this now. Bigger wounds take longer to heal…'
'Right…' d'Artagnan nodded, trying not to continue to turn up his nose as he watched.
Athos stepped carefully onto the dew-laden grass outside the church, letting the light of the moon guide him. Shadows danced against the walls, yet he blended into them as if he were one, silently making his way into the building. As he entered the old building, careful not to be seen by the oncoming men, he reached behind him, to the broadsword tethered to his back. The steel glinted in the moonbeams, and Athos curled his hands around the hilt, ready to strike the men making their way along the nave.
Hiding behind the pillars he watched them pass him- seconds later he made his move. He cut down the first two men with ease, his blade sweeping their legs out from under them, sending them straight to the floor with mottled cries. Ducking another blade he twisted to the side easily, dodging the knife as he struck the next man- with a grunt he moved forwards and punched another, sending him to the side before he drew his sword into his chest, blood spattering the floor.
He yelled out in pain as he felt a knife enter his upper back, near his collarbone- turning awkwardly he wrenched it out and used it to stab the offending man in the neck, sending him to the floor with a cry of pain.
Soon there was only one man left- Athos knew by now that he couldn't leave this one alive. Moving forwards, sword raised, the man didn't get a chance to raise his weapon- the sword entered his chest and poked out the other side, and it was only when Athos, breathing heavily, moved back a step and drew out his blade that the man crumpled to the floor.
There was a few seconds of silence now, accompanied by something Athos hadn't felt in a long time. Pain. He pushed it from his mind; he was sure there were more men. They were probably hiding now, biding their time, waiting for orders.
He stowed his blade away now, reaching to his coat pockets and pulling out two guns. He was ready for them if they did decide to come, that was for sure.
D'Artagnan watched as Marsac suddenly reared up and out of his seat, eyes still scrunched in pain as his stomach finished its healing process. 'Come on, lets get all the stuff ready to go.' He muttered as he buttoned up a new shirt.
'We need to hurry, come on!' D'Artagnan nodded, rushing round to gather their belongings. 'Come on!' He repeated as Marsac almost seemed to amble over to their beds, taking his time.
'Don't worry lad. Wait for the signal.'
'How do you even know what the signal is?' D'Artagnan threw back, voice quizzical. Seconds later, there was an almighty explosion and the back wall of their safe house blew out towards the opposite wall.
'Oh.' D'Artagnan muttered, blinking.
'Come on, time to go.' Marsac nodded- together they gathered all their things and stepped through the newly-created door. It led them into the church, the only light available being the moonlight that shone ahead.
D'Artagnan swallowed, eyes wide, as he took in the scene, the utter carnage. Dead men littered the floor, twisted and dismembered and bloody. 'Athos did all of this?' He breathed, tensing now as Marsac overtook him on the way to the door.
Marsac scoffed lightly at his words. 'That man has forgotten more ways to kill than entire armies will ever learn- come on!' He muttered, waiting for him to catch up.
Together they ran back down the sodden stone floor and out into the courtyard of the church- Athos was stood by a cart, a horse already saddled up. His eyes met d'Artagnan, and the two of them stared at each other as the two men approached.
A new feeling was settling into d'Artagnan's chest, making him feel sick. Where once he had felt comfort, even safety, when looking into Athos' eyes, now he felt….fear. What else was this man capable of?
He jumped slightly as Marsac hopped onto the cart and yelled at them both to get in. As soon as they had both hopped onto the cart he moved the horse off, to a destination of safety as they worked out what to do next.